


When Avatars Fall

by kangaroo2010



Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra, Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe, Arranged Marriage, Culture Shock, F/M, Napoleonic Wars, Romance, Sibling Bonding
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-14
Updated: 2016-08-20
Packaged: 2018-08-08 19:39:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 40,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7770430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kangaroo2010/pseuds/kangaroo2010
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Avatars fall, others must rise to take up the banner, and in a world on the brink of war, a boy and a girl must decide the shape of their destinies. Written for Zutara Week 2016.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Day One - Dragons

**Dragons**

“SO,” ZUKO SAID, STEPPING BACK FROM THE FULL-LENGTH MIRROR HE HAD BEEN FUSSING IN FRONT OF FOR THE BETTER PART OF AN HOUR AND SPREADING HIS ARMS WIDE, “HOW DO I LOOK?”

            From a handy couch, upon which she was fully stretched out, her bare feet propped up on an armrest while she languidly puffed one of Zuko’s cigarettes, his sister slowly turned her head, gave him a slow, relaxed once-over, and smiled. “Like some bizarre cross of a fire-ferret and a particularly awkward armadillo-lion, only slightly more ridiculous.”

            Zuko turned back to the mirror, his mouth twisting up into a grimace. “I would like to tell you to go screw, but I’m afraid you might be on to something.” She was, too; as much as Zuko hated to admit when Azula was right, she did, as usual, have a point. He really _did_ look ridiculous. Dress uniforms in general were, in Zuko’s humble opinion, instruments of torture specifically crafted by the gods of the darkest depths of the Underworld for the sole purpose of tormenting soldiers and amusing civilians, and the dress uniform of His Royal Majesty the Fire Lord’s Own Guards Hussars was a good candidate for being considered a masterpiece of the form. It started with the collar, a horrid and stiff contraption that encased his neck to just under his jaw, leaving him with the sensation of being slowly strangled by a weak but determined old man. From the perennial itch the collar left against his freshly shaved chin, the uniform continued onwards, a ludicrous cacophony of scarlet red and slashes of black so deep they glowed, all of it nearly buried beneath an absurd amount of gold. There was gold everywhere, really, gold lace and gold loops and gold whorls, gold flashes and gold stitches and gold buckles and gold buttons. Even the far-too-tight white gloves on his hands were trimmed with gold, until Zuko had no choice but to sigh as his shoulders slumped, forced to conclude that, when his sister said he looked _slightly ridiculous,_ she was, if anything, being _far_ too generous.

            “And I haven’t even put the helmet on yet,” he muttered, fighting against the urge to reach down and pluck the seam of his trousers out of the crack of his ass. The trousers were the worst part, as far as he was concerned. Normally, Zuko was an infantry officer, where trousers – even dress trousers – were designed to be loose and comfortable, the better to turtle-duck-step before reviewing stands in, but, alas, for today at least, he was a cavalry officer, which meant trousers so tight that Zuko was still astonished that the servant who hovered in a corner of the room hadn’t had to sew him into them.

            _Not that they serve much of a purpose,_ he thought, looking down at the tight-fitting, freshly shined riding boots that reached up to the middle of his thighs. _Between the saddle I’ll be perched in, the komodo-rhino I’ll be riding, and these gods-damned boots, I might as well be riding half-naked for all anyone would be able to tell._

            While he was occupied with such delightful thoughts, his sister had slid herself off the couch, tossing her half-smoked cigarette out a convenient window before sauntering her way across the room. “I don’t know,” she said, her usual mocking lilt hovering around the edges of her voice, the perfect tone to match the bemusement in her eyes, “the helmet seems to be the least awful part of the ensemble.”

            Zuko huffed, reaching down to adjust the bottom hem of his tight-fitting tunic for the thousandth time. “That’s because you don’t have to wear the damn thing.” It really was awful, a gaudy affair of scarlet red and ebony black and endless accents of gold, hammered into the likeness of a dragon’s snarling mouth and topped off with a dragon-moose-hair plume dyed red-and-black that, when Zuko finally surrendered the fight and put the helmet on, would hang down far enough to tickle the skin between his shoulder blades. “Gods only know what malevolent spirit possessed the man who designed it.”

            “No doubt,” Azula replied from the other side of the room, where Zuko had no doubt she was fiddling with the aforementioned helmet, “the intention was to make the cavalry look more imposing.”

            Zuko scoffed with all the scorn of an infantry officer. “Well, in that case, they failed miserably.”

            “Well,” Azula said, an ominous giggle rumbling in the back of her throat, “I think you’re overreacting a bit, Zu-Zu, _as usual._ ” A pause, a rustling noise that Zuko steadfastly ignored as he fiddled with his belt, adjusting – also for the thousandth time – the way that his _katana_ hung at his hip, and then, in a triumphant tone, “I think it makes me look rather dashing. I mean, sure, you do lack the _grace_ and _elegance_ of a Royal Princess such as myself, but if you just relax, I think you’ll be able to pull it off.”

            With that, Zuko’s eyes flew wide as he rounded on his sister, where he was confronted by a sight that did not surprise him in the least. There she stood, striking a ludicrous pose, face almost swallowed by a helmet that was _far_ too big for her head. She had even managed to drape the plume over her shoulder, stroking it as if she was some old Air Nomad guru petting a prized winged-lemur.

            No, the sight presented before his eyes did not shock Zuko in the least, but that didn’t mean he was amused by it. Fury and irritation crawled up his spine and clenched his throat, and before he quite knew what he was doing, he lunged at his sister, spitting and spluttering in consternation. “For the love of all that is good and holy, Zula, _take that damned thing off!”_

Azula had obviously seen the move coming, because she was ready, deftly spinning out of his reach and wagging the tail of the plume at him. “Aw, but don’t you like it, Zu-Zu? I think it’s rather fetching on me!”

            Zuko continued to lunge for his sister, even as she continued to evade his grasp. “Dammit, Zula, _that’s a fucking loan! It’s not mine!”_

“Tsk tsk, such _language._ Do you kiss our mother with that mouth?”

            “Kiss my ass, Zula, and _give me the gods-damn helmet!”_

“In that order?”

            “ _Dammit, Zula! Give it to me!”_

_“Make me!”_

By now, they had taken several circuits around the room, Zuko fighting his own lack of coordination, along with errant pieces of furniture and unfortunately placed rugs, all while his sister continued to evade his grasp, taunting him and waving the plume at him and just in general being a little sister. At some point, his anger faded, probably around the time that he crashed into a chair and went sprawling across the floor, and the look on Azula’s face as she ran back towards him, as if she was torn between suspecting a trick and worrying that she’d caused her brother to hurt himself ( _which wouldn’t have been the first time_ ), made him burst into hysterical laughter. She had been giggling all along, and when she saw that her brother had finally gotten the joke, she joined in, cackling like some witch out of a bedtime story. She reached down to help him up, a situation he shamelessly took advantage of, but she was once again way ahead of him, shoving him back to the floor and dancing away.

            With that, the game was on. They crashed into walls and tipped over chairs and couches and tramped up and over the bed and kicked inconvenient rugs aside, giggling like schoolchildren, rather than the nineteen-year-old prince and seventeen-year-old princess that they – _supposedly_ – were. It was, Zuko had to admit, the most fun he had had in a while, made all the more delicious because, since their father’s banishment from court, they no longer had to play their games in absolute silence. Around and around they went, until they were breathless with laughter, spending as much time helping each other not go careening out of one of the windows as they did trying to keep the game going.

            And then their mother came storming into the room.

-$-$-$-$-$-

            Katara stepped out of the bathroom, wearing a plain shift, her hair piled into a sloppy bun atop her head, and found herself, not for the first time, cursing whatever malevolent god had seen fit to saddle her with Sokka for an older brother. Personally, she suspected some passing _tuurngait_ who had been feeling bored and mischievous on the day that Mother Akna had received her _anirniq_ from Tui and La and come down to the world to place the _anirniq_ that would become Katara in a mother’s womb. At the end of the day, she decided with a _just barely disguised_ huff, it didn’t matter. What mattered was that revolution roiled in the heart of what had once been the Earth Kingdom, the Avatar was dying, everyone was preparing for war with whatever was about to burst out of Ba Sing Se, and her idiot older brother had, somehow, _someway,_ gone North for two years’ worth of advanced education and military training and, in a series of events that would seem impossible if they had happened to anyone else, ended up married to a princess and heir to a throne.

            Which, by a long and convoluted road, was how Katara came to be stepping into a room filled with servants from a land not her own, at least a dozen dresses helpfully spread out on a table before her.

            On a ship.

            Heading for the Fire Nation.

            _In the summer._

Katara bit down on a sigh as she walked up to the table, reached her hand out, gently ran her fingers across the dresses, a furrow inching its way down between her brows. “Yumiko-san?”

            When the ship had entered Fire Nation waters, a veritable army of servants had come aboard, and one of their leaders stepped forward, a middle-aged woman with black hair tinged with grey drawn back into a severe bun, dressed modestly and of an almost petite stature and yet, somehow, exuding an aura of effortless authority that Katara couldn’t help but admire. The woman gave a shallow bow, smiled, and said, “Yes, my lady?”

            Katara winced at the _my lady,_ covering the annoyed fluster that her nerves threatened to unleash upon the nearest handy target by picking up one of the dresses, a brightly-colored number that seemed to shimmer with the colors of the sea at sunset. She pinched a bit of the fabric, rubbing her finger and thumb back-and-forth. “Is it just me, Yumiko-san, or is this fabric rather…um… _thin…?”_

Yumiko-san smiled. “It is indeed, my lady,” she said, in her pitch-perfect Northern-flavored Inuktitut, right down to the nasal drawl that made the speaker sound like they had a cold. “I’m afraid that dresses must be made rather…well… _thin,_ here in the Fire Nation, at least in the summer.”

            Katara nodded, though she couldn’t quite keep the unease from creeping up her throat. The explanation made sense, but…well… “But…pardon me if I’m harping on a point here, but…it would be…um…well…I mean…it’s so…well… _thin…_ it just seems that…I mean…”

            Yumiko-san’s eyes lit up, and she let out a soft giggle. “I think I understand your hesitation, my lady, and allow me to lay your mind at ease. These dresses were made by one of the Royal Family’s own dressmakers, a firm that produces clothing for the highest born young ladies of the Fire Nation. I can assure you that, no matter how thin the fabric may be, it will not be see-through.”

            Katara picked the dress fully up off the table, turned towards a window, held it up to the light. Somehow, she just couldn’t quite believe what she was being told. It just seemed so…well… _flimsy,_ as if it was made, not of silk or finely woven cloth ( _she never had been able to tell the difference_ ), but of air. And as for the cut… “Is it just me,” she asked, nibbling lightly on a corner of her bottom lip, “but is this cut familiar?”

            Yumiko-san brightened even more. “It should be, my lady. That’s the style common in the Northern Water Tribe. It’s been all the rage in the Fire Nation since Her Royal Highness the Princess Yue’s state visit last year.”

            Katara cracked her first smile of the day. _I can believe that. My sister-in-law is the kind of girl who looks beautiful in everything, all while being super sweet and nice about it; one couldn’t **pay** for a better fashion setter. _And Katara had to admit that the Fire Nation version of the latest Northern fashion was a credit to the original. There was the long skirt that fell straight down from just under one’s bosom until it brushed the tops of one’s feet, fanning out behind in a small train that Katara would have to hold if she wished to dance. The neckline may have been a bit…well… _deeper_ than what would _ever_ have been tolerated among any of the Water Tribes, princess or no, but the puffy half-sleeves were there, ending about halfway between the shoulder and the arm. “Would I have to wear gloves with this?” she asked, pressing the dress against the front of her body and running her hands down the fabric.

            Yumiko-san bowed her head. “It is recommended, my lady.”

            Katara may have been relatively new to the world of princes and princesses and palaces and court functions, but she’d learned enough to recognize a flat affirmative answer when she heard one. “I see,” she said, her voice trailing off at the end. She turned around, towards a convenient full-length mirror, twisting this way and that, trying to imagine herself in the dress. It really was a marvel to behold, beautiful, a credit to its maker. Somewhere deep in the city of Miyako, someone had set out to capture the glory of the sun setting at sea, and they had achieved it. Readjust the neckline in the interests of Water Tribe _modesty (or prudishness, as Katara preferred to think of it),_ spin it from a heavier fabric, and she could easily imagine her sister-in-law striding into court in it. Everyone would ooh and aah, and before the month was out, every highborn girl in the North would have something similar.

            “Do you like it, my lady?”

            Yumiko-san’s voice sliced into her thoughts like a freshly sharpened sword through butter. Katara turned fully to the mirror, tore her gaze away from the dress that she held pressed to her body, looked deep into her own eyes.

            “Do I like it?” she asked, in a voice that sounded, to her ears at least, a bit hollow and a bit dull.

            “There’s a whole chest full of other dresses, my lady,” Yumiko-san replied, stepping to Katara’s side, “if these are not to your liking. Or, if my lady would perhaps prefer to wear one of her own dresses…?”

            Katara blinked, but she did not look away from her eyes. “Is that an option?”

            Yumiko-san shrugged. “I don’t see why not, my lady. I know Her Grace your mother is concerned that your own dresses will be too heavy for the weather, but, if I remember correctly, there were one or two that seemed just fine to me.”

            Katara closed her eyes, trying to see, trying to feel. All around her, her element gushed and flowed, almost as if the tide was pulsing to the beat of her heart. She tried to picture herself in the dress, in any of the dresses laid out on the table, or carefully packed in one of the chests the servants had brought onboard. She tried to see herself as a princess, but…

            _Not in this. I hate these kinds of dresses. They’re awkward and I’m always tripping over the hem and you can’t bend in them, or, at least, you can’t bend in any way that would count._

But then she thought of the effort that had been made to make her arrival in the Fire Nation as welcome and stress-free as possible. She thought of the war that everyone was expecting, of the alliances to be made, of how much her mother and her sisters had been looking forward to this trip, and of how important first impressions could be.

            And that’s when she realized that her decision had already been made.

            “No, Yumiko-san, that won’t be necessary. This dress will do just fine.”

-$-$-$-$-$-

            Zuko’s world was a cacophony of ringing as he followed a corporal deeper into the officer’s barracks of the Guards Hussars. His heavy, gilded spurs rang and jangled with each step, his cavalry boots sent sharp _cracks_ ringing up and down the halls, his sword-belt rang and clattered with each step, and, worst of all, his mother’s irritated voice continued to ring in his ears.

            His heart shuddered at the memory of his mother’s face, deep down in the pit of his stomach where it had yet to crawl its way out of. Zuko could not recall a time when he had seen her more angry. Even Azula had been stunned, which was saying something; as a general rule, if the Lady Ursa was angry, it was probably over something her strong-willed daughter had done, and Azula would be the first to admit that she generally deserved whatever consequence came her way.

            This time was different, though. The Lady Ursa’s words still echoed in Zuko’s head, and his back seemed to ache from the military-grade attention he had maintained throughout the lecture. _Today of all days,_ his mother had bellowed, as her half-dozen ladies-in-waiting made for the door, holding their skirts up off the floor to better aid in their escape. _Today of all days!_ That had been her refrain, over and over again. _I come to see my son resplendent in the uniform of the Guards, and instead find him chasing his sister around a room, giggling like a drunken peasant at the Fire Festival! **And on today of all days!**_ Once, about fifteen minutes in, their mother had turned her back and stomped away, the better to run her fingers through her hair, and Zuko had taken the chance to look at his sister and mouth, _Is today significant somehow?_ To that, Azula had only been able to shrug and look lost, and then their mother was swinging around for another pass and the siblings snapped back to attention.

            Now, an hour later, Zuko was hobbling along behind a corporal, trying to both look dignified while also valiantly attempting to ignore how the skintight trousers rode up in uncomfortable places, and no more enlightened that he had been an hour before. He _still_ didn’t understand why today should be…well… _special,_ or, at the very least, special enough to send his mother into a nervous panic. Sure, he had been snatched away from his regiment for a week, given a temporary promotion to Captain of the Guards Hussars, and ordered to command the honor guard that would great some Southern notables at the docks, but that was hardly…well… _special._ His uncle’s birthday was in three weeks’ time, and the Army’s summer maneuvers would be the week after that, so the arrival of _foreign notables_ wasn’t exactly what one would call…well… _notable._

 _Unless these particular notables are exceptionally…um…_ Zuko frowned. _Uh…notably notable?_ He rolled his eyes and chuckled at his mental choice of words. _Surely I can do better than that…_

“Corporal?”

            A few steps ahead of him, the corporal ( _whose name Zuko had forgotten, assuming it had ever been volunteered_ ) slowed down a bit, looking back over his shoulder. “Yes, Your Highness?”

            Zuko flinched. He didn’t want to, but there it was. _Your Highness._ It had been over a year since anyone had called him that in earnest, and now, after three days at the Palace, he couldn’t seem to swing a pig-chicken without someone bowing and scraping and muttering _Your Highness._ “That’s not necessary, Corporal.”

            The corporal shrugged. “Begging your pardon, Your Highness, but Viscount Fukuzawa,” that being, the Colonel of the Guards Hussars, “says otherwise.”

            Zuko bit down on a sharp reply, not least because he doubted his ability to deliver it properly. “Well,” he said instead, praying to all the gods both above and below that his face was not as red as it felt, “surely the wishes of a _Prince of the Blood_ weigh a bit more heavily than those of His Lordship.”

            The corporal responded to that with another shrug, even more languid than the first. “Not in these halls, Your Highness. Ah, here we are.”

            They came to a stop before door that looked like it belonged in a dungeon more than a barracks. It was made of heavy iron, black as night, and when the corporal give it a hard knock, it rang like one of the great gongs in the Palace temple.

            Zuko frowned, shifting his weight from foot-to-foot, desperate to work his trousers out of the places they had worked themselves into without actually looking like he was doing so. “This doesn’t look like His Lordship’s office, Corporal.”

            The corporal gave yet another shrug, leaving Zuko to wonder if that was his primary method of communication. “It isn’t, Your Highness. His Lordship is a stickler for proper uniforms, and yours isn’t complete.”

            Zuko tried to contain his astonishment, and had little doubt that he failed miserably. “You can’t possibly be serious.” He gave the infamous helmet, meekly surrendered by his sister about halfway through their mother’s tirade, a shake. “What more could I need?”

            A sound of locks being turned came through the door, and hinges squealed as it opened. “Your carbine, of course, Your Highness.”

            Somehow, those words, accompanied by the act of stepping into what was now revealed as an armory, finished off what little enthusiasm Zuko had had for the day. The room was filled with racked carbines and pistols, and it smelled strongly of gun oil and flint and steel, but Zuko barely noticed any of it. He was handed a black-and-red strap trimmed with gold and with a gold hook to hang a carbine from, and then he was handed the carbine itself, as shiny and polished as if it had just come from the factory floor, and it was all he could do not to fling it to the floor and storm away. It seemed such a flimsy thing, barely two-feet-long, a far cry from the long muskets of his _true_ regiment, the regiment that was even now preparing for the maneuvers without him. He held it loosely in his hands, turned it this way and that, watched the light from scattered candles flash and flicker up and down the short barrel.

            _It’s not even good for anything,_ he thought, a savage fury churning his stomach. _Hussars aren’t dragoons; they don’t engage at a distance for skirmishing or scouting. They’re supposed to charge home, like lancers, and rely on cold steel to carry the day._ He wanted nothing more than to take the stupid little thing by the barrel, smash the stock over the most convenient head, and march back to his room. He could see it now, see it playing out before him. He would strip off all the horrid gilt and finery, put on his sensible and sturdy infantry lieutenant’s uniform, and go back to his regiment, back to the Ninety-Fourth, where no one called him _Your Highness_ and no one would think to drag him away from his proper duties to sit a komodo-rhino in the boiling hot summer sun and spout flowery courtesies at whomever he was supposed to spout them at.

            _No doubt I’ll screw up the courtesies, too. I always do._

            But, at the end of the day, those courtesies were part of his duty, just as much as his responsibility to his regiment was, if not more so. He may have been a spare prince, but he was still a Prince of the Blood, nephew to the Fire Lord, cousin to the Crown Prince, and if his uncle’s word was not as powerful as it had been before the Avatar forced the Constitution on his great-grandfather, it was still as good as law for Zuko.

            And so he took the carbine, as well as the strap. The strap he worked over his head and hung so that it stretched crosswise, from his left shoulder to his right hip, and fumbled a bit as he attached the carbine’s hook to the one on the strap. Then he took up the hideous dragon-shaped helmet, nodded at the corporal, and tried not to think about just how much he hated being a prince.

-$-$-$-$-$-

            “So, my lady,” Yumiko-san said, stepping back to admire her handiwork, “how do you like it?”

            Katara stood before the full-length mirror, turning first one day, then other, letting the hem of the sunset dress twirl around her feet as she spun. As much as she hated to admit it, the dress looked good on her. _No,_ she corrected herself, _it looks beautiful._ The bright colors provided the perfect contrast to her dark skin, and the subtle shades of blue that rippled across the fabric made the blue of her eyes pop. She had never truly understood that phrase, _a dress to make one’s eyes pop,_ always thought it was just something that girls sillier than her said to sound smarter than they were, but she understood it now.

            She understood something else, too, something her best friend back home, Nerrivik, always used to say. _No matter how bad a day it is, Katara, it’s never so bad that a nice outfit can’t make it seem a bit more bearable._ She couldn’t say for sure whether the day ahead of her, the day when she would set foot for the first time in the Land of the Setting Sun, there to meet a prince she knew little about, would be _bad,_ but she knew the dress and the growing heat had put her in a sullen mood.

            _But at least the dress looks good,_ she admitted. _I still hate the style, but it looks good on me, I’ll give it that._

            “I like it very well,” she finally admitted, allowing herself a final spin. “I was hesitant at first, I’ll admit, but now that it’s on me, I like it just fine.” That may have been _gilding the lily_ a bit, she herself would be the first to admit, but Yumiko-san had been nothing but kind to Katara, and Katara had never had it in her to return kindness with scorn. With a final, somewhat wistful sigh, Katara turned her back on the mirror and faced her… _her…_

            Katara frowned. _Damn you, Sokka. Why did you have to go and woo a princess?_ “Pardon, Yumiko-san,” she began, pursing her lips in thought, “but it just occurred to me…what, exactly, are you?”

            Yumiko-san answered her frown with a frown of her own. “I’m not sure I follow, my lady.”

            “Well,” Katara started nibbling her bottom lip, caught herself, forced her teeth back into her mouth with far more difficulty than should’ve been necessary, _you’ll chew that damn lip off someday,_ her mother’s voice rang in her ears, “it’s just…what do I call you?”

            Yumiko-san brightened as realization dawned across her face. “Oh! Well, _Yumiko-san_ is perfectly acceptable, my lady, and as for what, exactly, _I am,_ well…for the duration of your stay in the Fire Nation, I am your lady’s maid.”

            Katara nodded, understanding, but not entirely sure she was comprehending, a sensation she had come to know all too well over the past two years. “I see…so that means that you’re basically my…personal servant…?”

            Yumiko-san bowed her head. “That would be correct, my lady, unless you would prefer someone else?”

            Katara’s eyes flew wide, and she quickly waved the suggestion away. “Oh, Tui and La no!” The mere suggestion that she would have to face the rest of her stay in the Fire Nation without Yumiko-san brought her to the brink of panic. Her mother had spent the past three months on the verge of a nervous breakdown from the stress, her little sisters had been little terrors, and that didn’t even get into how Katara had yet to so much as see a picture of the prince she was supposed to decide whether or not to marry by the end of the summer. “Honestly, Yumiko-san,” she said, giving her own little bow, “I don’t think I could do this without you.”

            Yumiko-san giggled, and snapped her fingers at one of the young maids standing patiently in a corner of the room. “Oh, you say that now, my lady, but you’ll be sick of this old woman soon enough.”

            Katara crossed her arms, a flash of pique shooting up her spine as she felt like herself for the first time since she’d boarded the ship three weeks before. “I’ll thank you to let me be the judge of _that,_ Yumiko-san.”

            Yumiko-san smiled and bowed. “As you wish, my lady, and might I say, it’s nice to see you smile.”

            “Smile?”

            “I’ve been attending you since yesterday, and until now, I’d yet to catch even a glimpse of the stubborn and vivacious young girl your brother promised us. It’s nice to finally see what he was talking about.”

            “Oh.” Katara’s heart fell, along with her shoulders, and when her teeth once more found her bottom lip, she didn’t even notice. “I guess I have been a bit…well…um…”

            “Apprehensive, I would say, though I wouldn’t worry about it, my lady. You’re far from the first young girl in your position to be a bundle of nerves. And for the record, I think you’ll find the Prince Zuko to be quite to your liking.”

            Katara felt herself brighten a bit at that. Even if she ended up refusing to go through with the match, it would be nice, she felt, to come all this way to at least find a nice boy at the end of the journey. “You really think so?”

            “I do, actually.”

            “Well, I’ll take your word for it…though…what has he been told about me? Is he amenable to marrying me?”

            For the first time, Yumiko-san faltered, and for a moment, she seemed lost for words. “I…well…I wouldn’t know anything about that, my lady. Things are done somewhat differently in the Fire Nation.” And then, before Katara had a chance to really think over the woman’s choice of words, Yumiko-san was taking her by the hand and guiding her to a stool in front of a vanity, sitting her down while saying, “Now, enough about princes. What would you like us to do with your hair?”

-$-$-$-$-$-

            As the midday sun rose ever higher in the sky, baking lord and commoner alike, a hundred troopers astride komodo-rhinos wound their way through the narrow streets of Miyako, the capital of the Fire Nation. They were the Second Company, Second Battalion, of His Royal Majesty the Fire Lord’s Own Guards Hussars, and they made quite the impressive sight, thundering past in a veritable storm of jangling bridles and saddles and sword belts and carbines rattling at the end of body straps. They poured through the streets, a column of scarlet and black and gold flashing in the sun, the plumes of their dragon helmets twisting and turning in the breeze. City watchmen raced ahead of them, keeping the way clear, and those citizens interested enough to brave the furnace-like heat acted as if the troopers were putting on a parade just for them. People flung open windows and hung flags from balconies, small children raced alongside the column, daring each other to race in and out of the trotting komodo-rhinos, and young girls waved handkerchiefs and blew kisses when they thought their parents weren’t watching. It was, in other words, quite the little show, a nice little drama to liven up an otherwise average summer day.

            And at the column’s head, riding beneath the regimental standard, a blood-red dragon snarling its way across a field of black-and-gold, Zuko sat his mount and saw none of it.

            “If you don’t mind my saying so, Zuk,” a deep, gravelly voice observed to his side, “you look miserable.”

            Zuko groaned, reaching up to tug at the ghastly collar where it pinched the top of his throat. “That’s because I _am_ miserable, Toshiro.” And he was, too; it was horribly hot, the column was raising a cloud of dirt and dust from the roadbed, and he desperately wanted to be literally anywhere else.

            Beside him, Lieutenant Mifune Toshiro threw back his head and laughed, a short, sharp, barking bray of a sound. “That’s my buddy Zuk,” he observed, turning in his saddle to reach up and catch a kiss offered by one of the prettier girls who watched from windows and doors and rooftops, setting said girl into a fit of giggles, “always looking on the dreary side of life.” Toshiro made a big show of stuffing the kiss into his saddlebag, before blowing his own kiss in return. “You must be the only man in existence who graduated top of his class at the Academy, and yet somehow managed to look irritated by the accomplishment.”

            In spite of his misery, Zuko couldn’t help but chuckle. Toshiro, who had graduated third in that same class, right behind their mutual friend Watanabe Toru, had a point. Zuko had worked himself into such a state over his graduation that he barely even remembered the ceremony. He was _still_ sure he had fumbled something, chalking up the protestations to the contrary of his friends to people just trying to make him feel better. “Well,” Zuko said, steadfastly facing forward, he was afraid that if he caught a girl blowing at kiss at him, he’d fall off his mount in astonishment, “how could I be happy? They only gave me the top spot because I’m a prince; we both know that it should’ve gone to Toru.”

            Zuko didn’t need to see Toshiro roll his eyes to know that it happened. “For the love of the gods, Zuk, you beat Toru by two points, and nobody was happier about it than Toru. Give yourself some credit for once.”

            Zuko frowned, setting his shoulders and trying to ignore the sweat trickling down the back of his neck. _This helmet feels like a gods-damn oven atop my head. How do people stand this horror?_ “I’ll give myself some credit when I feel like I’ve earned it.”

            “So never?” Toshiro scoffed, twisting in his saddle to catch yet another kiss. Zuko didn’t begrudge his friend the kisses; where Zuko was tall and gangly and awkward and, in his opinion, very plain looking, Toshiro was anything but. He was tall, too, but graceful and devilishly handsome. He sat his saddle like the son and heir of a Duke that he was, and even his strangely gruff and growly voice didn’t detract from the picture of perfect high nobility that he presented. Kiss caught, stored, and returned, Toshiro gave a little bow to his admirers and turned his attention back to Zuko. “Well,” Toshiro said, with a resigned sigh, “if you won’t have a little fun for once, who all are we supposed to be honor guarding?”

            Zuko let out his own sigh. He still didn’t understand why his presence was needed, or why it required him to put on a horrid uniform and receive a temporary commission to a Guards regiment. _But mine is not to question why, I suppose._ “The wife of the Chief of the Yuupik of the Southern Water Tribes is arriving today, along with three of her daughters to attend my uncle’s birthday celebration and watch the summer maneuvers.”

            “Ah. Yuupik…where have I heard that name before?”

            “Because her son is now the Crown Prince and heir to the throne for the Northern Water Tribe.”

            Toshiro let out a low whistle. “Damn. Lucky guy. Did you get to meet him last year?”

            Zuko shook his head, shifting in his saddle to return the bow of a distinguished-looking old man in a faded Army uniform. “No, thank the gods. I was able to beg off that particular royal duty and stay with my regiment.”

            Toshiro clucked his tongue. “You missed out on quite the show, I’m afraid. The Prince Sokka is hilarious, and the Princess Yue is a beautiful as she is good-natured.”

            Zuko bit down on a groan; the then-newlyweds had made quite a splash in Miyako when they’d arrived, and he had long-since tired of hearing about it. “So I heard.”

            “I bet you did! Any idea why his mother and sisters are coming to our humble Homeland?”

            Zuko could only shrug. “Beats me. My sister told me a rumor that the eldest sister, the Lady Katara, is here to a meet a prospective husband, but I don’t know much beyond that.”

            Toshiro gave his friend a searching look. “Prospective husband, eh? Any idea who that might be?”

            “Like I said, beats me. The Prince Sokka’s supposed to arrive next week with a gaggle of Northern noblemen in tow, so I imagine it’s one of them.”

            “Maybe…or maybe it’s you.”

            Zuko rounded on his friend, eyes wide, mouth open, the scar on his torso twinging in time with his heartbeat. “You can’t possibly be serious.”

            Toshiro gave one his infamous expansive shrugs. “Why not? You’re good-looking, available, and now that they’re royalty-by-proxy, it’d be the perfect way to seal an alliance with the Southern Water Tribes.”

            Zuko didn’t know what to make of that; it was all he could do to stop himself from blinking like an idiot. _That can’t…there’s no way…but…is there…?_ So much would make sense, from his mother’s nerves to why he was in charge of this honor guard, or why there was an honor guard this large in the first place. _A hundred Guards Hussars, led by a prince, for the wife of a Southern tribal chief?_ It had puzzled Zuko and his sister all through the morning, and it puzzled him still, though maybe… _just maybe…_

He shook his head, tossing the thought away. It didn’t matter, at the end of the day. He was a Prince of the Fire Nation, and he would marry whomever his uncle told him to marry, whether he liked it or not. If he was lucky, he’d be told ahead of time, and if he was _very_ lucky, the girl would be someone he knew and maybe, _just maybe,_ liked, but that was the best he could hope for. Commoners in the Fire Nation could marry whom they pleased, for whatever reason struck their fancy, but a Prince of the Blood did not have that option.

            “I doubt it,” he said finally, schooling his features into blankness. “Azula’s money is still on one of the King of Omashu’s legion of granddaughters for a foreign match, or Duke Akiyama’s sister for a domestic one, and it’s never wise to bet against my sister.”

            Toshiro chuckled. “I’ll give you that. Still…Azula’s been wrong before, you know.”

            Zuko popped an eyebrow at his friend. “Shall I tell her you said that?”

            Toshiro made a face. “I’d rather you didn’t.”

            And with that, for the first time since his mother had so rudely interrupted him and his sister’s morning fun-and-games, Zuko laughed.

-$-$-$-$-$-

            Katara’s first real look at the capital of the Fire Nation was nothing short of breathtaking. It was the largest city she had ever seen, even larger than Iqaluit, the Northern Water Tribe’s capital, which itself had dwarfed her home town of Katvik in the South to the point of insignificance. Miyako, in contrast to her home, seemed so big it was a bit ridiculous. It stretched as far as her eye could see, fading into the foothills of the tree-covered mountains that surrounded it to the south and west. The city itself seemed to glitter in the sun, golden temples shining like mini-suns, while the rest of the buildings were a riot of red and black and a thousand other colors besides. The smell of cooking fires and factories mingled with the salty musk of the sea, and even a mile out from the shore, Katara could hear the faint sounds of bellowing animals and bustling people.

            It was a magnificent sight, well worth the trip from her homeland, and it almost, _almost,_ made up for how damn _hot_ it was.

            And it was _hot._ The sun was almost directly overhead, and Katara felt like she was standing in an oven. Even with her light dress and the shade of a parasol that she held over her head, she felt oppressed, crushed, _smothered_ by the heat. It was heat unlike any she had ever known in her entire life, and for a few moments, she was tempted to call off the entire exercise, tell her mother that she had changed her mind about meeting a prince named Zuko, _who may or may not even know I’m coming, or why I’m here,_ and have the ship turn around for home. Never again, she promised herself, as a sudden gust of dry, hot air slapped her across the face and ruffled the lace that hung from the edges of her parasol, would she complain about the summers back home. _I’ll lay out in the sun and be thankful,_ she decided, then pushed such silly, pointless thoughts from her mind.

            _I’ve come this far,_ she told herself, shaking off her worries and her doubts, _and I’ve never been the quitting type, anyways._ She turned towards Yumiko-san, who hovered a step behind her on her right. “Is that the Palace, Yumiko-san?”

            Yumiko-san, who held her own parasol, squinted her eyes and nodded. “It is indeed, my lady.”

            Katara’s eyes went wide. “I wasn’t aware it was so big.”

            And big it was. It dominated the center of the city, rising from the jumble of narrow streets and sunbaked tenements atop what could only have been a manmade hill. It sprawled through the heart of the city, a massive compound trimmed with gold and hemmed in by a low wall. _And before the year is out, I may be living there._ The idea didn’t frighten her nearly as much as she supposed it should have. _After all,_ she couldn’t help but reason, _if my goof of a brother can live in a palace, why not me?_

“Well, my lady,” Yumiko-san said, lowering her hand and setting said hand back to waving a simple fan back-and-forth, “it’s not just the home of the Royal Family. The palace compound also houses the Regiments of the Guard, housing for the Palace staff and servants, various government offices, rooms for visiting nobles and dignitaries-“

            “And the Diet meets there, right?”

            Yumiko-san nodded. “It does, indeed, my lady, both houses.”

            Katara screwed up her face, trying to recall details from the jumble of facts that had been crammed into her skull during two years of a much belated royal education. “The Peers and the Commons, correct?”

            Yumiko-san smiled. “Correct, my lady, and might I say, your Nihongo is much better than you give yourself credit for.”

            Katara beamed at the compliment. Ever since one of her new servants had, under Katara’s careful instruction, put her hair into a tight braid that reached down to the small of her back ( _it was too hot to let her hair fall free, Katara believed_ ), Katara had abandoned Inuktitut and started speaking in Nihongo, the somewhat harsh, vaguely guttural language of the Fire Nation. It still sounded rather ugly to Katara’s ears, but there was an admirable preciseness to the language that she rather liked. _Though the writing system still leaves much to be desired._

“ _Arigato,_ Yumiko-san,” Katara said, giving her lady’s maid ( _something she still wasn’t used to, and doubted she ever would be_ ) a shallow bow. “I’ve worked hard to master the language of your people.”

            Yumiko-san returned the bow. “And you’ve succeeded, my lady.”

            Katara rather doubted that; the tutors King Arnook had sent to see to her and her sisters’ educations had been of the opinion that her accent was still thick, and she herself acknowledged that she tended to butcher the grammar, but a sincere compliment was a sincere compliment, and Katara had never been what one would call _humble._ “I try, Yumiko-san,” Katara said, a smile on her face.

            And it was a genuine smile, too. That surprised her. All day, she had been in a funk, but that funk seemed to have faded away. She was still standing on a ship in the blazing heat of the Land of Fire, clutching a parasol that she had had to snatch from the servant who had wanted to hold it for her, wearing a dress she wasn’t comfortable in, speaking a language she was far from used to, and about to set foot in a country she’d never been to, potentially to marry a prince she’d never seen, but somehow, out on the deck of the ship, standing in the warm breeze, it didn’t seem quite so bad. _Daunting,_ yes, she would be the first to admit, but…well… _bad?_

She allowed herself a thin smile. _No, it’s not so bad, after all. In fact…_

“Yumiko-san?”

            “Yes, my lady?”

            “Do newspapers deliver to the Palace?”

            Yumiko-san’s face curled into a knowing smile. “Indeed they do, my lady. His Majesty reads _The Miyako Times_ cover-to-cover every morning. Shall I arrange for a copy to be delivered to you in the mornings?”

            Katara savored the question, savored the opportunities. In her homeland, education was spotty; she doubted if more than one-in-three of the people in her tribe could read and write, and among women, it was even less. What newspapers there were, tended to be foreign papers, often from the North, and in addition to being a few weeks old by the time they arrived, women would discouraged from reading them. _Don’t worry your pretty little head about it,_ her father always said, and even her mother agreed. _Let men worry about such things,_ was how her mother put it. _It’s what we keep them around for._

            _But I’m a long way from home, aren’t I?_ She smiled. _I’m not in Katvik anymore._

            “That would be just fabulous, Yumiko-san, absolutely fabulous.”

-$-$-$-$-$-

            “Your Highness, have you seen this?”

            Zuko bit down on a growled curse, rounding on the other lieutenant under his nominal command that day, a spindly stick of a young man by the name of Terajima, whose big ears were only matched in size by the thickness of the glasses he was constantly having to push up off the tip of his nose. “What did I say about the _Your Highnesses,_ Lieutenant?”

            Terajima gulped, a ludicrous sight that brought a choked snort out of Toshiro’s throat. The boy was even younger than Zuko and Toshiro; he had been a year behind them at the Academy, and his commission in the Guards Hussars was barely two months old. Terajima also seemed a bit in awe of serving alongside a Prince, though Zuko couldn’t imagine why. The Terajimas were one of the Forty Elite, the forty oldest and most powerful clans in the Fire Nation, and his uncle was the Duke Terajima himself, one of the leaders of the Conservative faction in the House of Peers.

            “Um…” Terajima paused, looked down at the newspaper in his hands, gulped once more. “To…um… _cut it out…?”_

Zuko reined in his temper, which had been fraying ever since Toshiro had shared his theory about why the Lady Katara was arriving in the Fire Nation, and why Zuko had to be the one to meet her. _Gods,_ he kept praying, _please let it not be true, and if it is, please help me keep my foot out of my mouth for once._ Zuko didn’t have much hope in the gods, though; they’d never seemed inclined to listen to him. _Unless there’s a god for fools…that would make sense._ Biting down on the sharp rebuke that tickled at the back of his throat, he settled for a nod. “If you would be so kind, Tetsuo-san.” He paused, counted to ten, and took a deep drag from his cigarette. “Now, what is it that I might have seen?”

            Terajima gave himself a shake, and tapped the paper in his hands. “The latest out of Ba Sing Se. Apparently, the Committee of Public Safety has ordered all Air Nomads out of the Earth Kingdom.”

            Zuko frowned, held his hand out for the paper. “Let me see that.” Terajima handed it over, and Zuko stepped out of the shade to read. He had ordered the company to file into a vacant lot a few streets away from the dock where the ship they were waiting for would land, a lot that happened to be hemmed in on one side by a tall building. The shade didn’t provide much in the way of coolness, but it was better than sitting out in the sun, so Zuko had ordered a smoke break and settled down to wait for the ship to arrive.

            “Well,” he muttered, pausing to take another drag from his cigarette, “I’ll be damned.” He waved the paper at Toshiro, who was stepping out of the shade to join him. “Have you heard about this, Toshiro?”

            He handed over the paper, and Toshiro, tossing his own cigarette to the ground, gave the paper a quick read-through and shook his head. “I didn’t get a chance to read the paper this morning, so no. This is…” He sighed, looked up from the paper. “This isn’t good news.”

            Zuko shook his head. “No, it isn’t, especially because the Committee has ordered the southern kingdoms to comply.” Avatar Aang may have managed to bring Sozin’s War to a quick close a century before, but the Earth Kingdom had not benefited from the peace. Humiliation in battle and one weak Emperor after another had ended in a fractured kingdom. Only the central regions continued to be ruled from Ba Sing Se; the northwest had long since seceded, the petty kings of the south ignored central rule, and Ba Sing Se itself had been a seething, roiling mass of rebellion, riot, and the occasional coup. But now, things had changed. The so-called _Committee of Public Safety_ had seized power in the city, and the Emperor Kuei was a prisoner in all but name. A man named _Long Feng_ held real power, and his armies, led by a woman named _Kuvira,_ were storming through the heart of what had once been the Earth Kingdom, restoring order by brute force. So far, those armies had stuck to those areas that still pledged allegiance to Ba Sing Se, but no one knew how long that would last…

            “Won’t the Avatar do something?” Terajima asked, looking up at the sky as if he expected the Avatar to appear out of thin air.

            Toshiro shrugged. “What can he do? He’s over a century-old, and dying, too. Once he kicks the bucket…” His voice trailed off, and he let a look to Zuko do the talking.

            Zuko could only nod. _Once the Avatar dies, it’ll mean war. That’s what always happens when an Avatar dies. Last time, it was my great-grandfather doing the invading, but this time…_

_This time…_

Zuko’s thoughts were shattered by a shout. He turned on his heel, saw a young man waving at him. “Your Highness!” the man called, leaping from foot-to-foot. “Your Highness! The ship will be here in thirty minutes!”

            Just like that, all the thoughts of revolution and war vanished, and Zuko’s heart plunged back down into his boots. _Gods, they’re here. **She’s** here. _He was now sure that Toshiro had been right. No other explanation made the least amount of sense, and there was a perverse aptness to it. His mouth went dry, and for a moment, he forgot how to speak. He rounded on Toshiro, eyes wide, and when Toshiro started to shake with laughter, he couldn’t even get mad.

            Then, his training took over and he started to rattle off orders.

-$-$-$-$-$-

            The first thing Katara saw upon stepping onto the top of the ramp that would lead her down to the shore was a field of dragons.

            There seemed to be dragons everywhere. A dragon snarled across a banner that snapped in the wind above the hundred mounted soldiers arrayed before her. More dragons snarled from the heads of the soldiers, a hundred helmets in the shape of dragons’ heads, black-and-scarlet plumes rippling in the breeze. There were dragon heads on the soldiers’ belt buckles, and when someone bellowed an order, the sound of a hundred swords hissing out of scabbards made Katara think of dragons waking from their sleep.

            Another order was shouted, a trumpet blew, and then a hundred swords flashed as the soldiers whipped the blades up to in front of their faces. A band began to play, something loud and bombastic, but Katara barely heard it. She was mesmerized by the display before her, almost blinded by the way a sea of gilded uniforms glittered in the sun. She watched, amazed, as the soldiers swung their swords to their sides, and then, as one, a hundred komodo-rhinos went down on one knee and the soldiers bowed deep from their saddles. They held the bow, and how Katara managed to remember to return it, she would never quite know, and then the soldiers were rising, and someone called out, _Three cheers for the Ladies of the South!_ One man shouted, _Hip hip,_ and then the entire company exploded, thrusting their swords into the air as they bellowed, _Banzai!_ Two more times they cheered, first the _hip hip,_ and then the _banzai,_ each one louder than before, and then Katara’s mother was nudging her in the back and the sound of her sister Kanna’s stifled laughter snapped her out of her shock.

            She gave herself a shake, threw back her head, jutted out her chin, just as the tutors from the North had taught her, and slowly made her way down the ramp, to where an officer was riding up from the front of the company to meet her.

-$-$-$-$-$-

            Zuko couldn’t quite believe what was happening, couldn’t quite believe what his eyes were telling him. The world shrunk to a tunnel, the blood pounded in his ears. His mouth was as dry as the Si Wong Desert, and for once, he was thankful for the stupid gold-and-white gloves on his hands, for otherwise his _katana_ would’ve slipped right out of his palms.

            There were at least a dozen women coming down the ramp, Her Grace the Chieftess Kya, flanked by two awestruck teenage girls, and several maids and servants, but Zuko saw none of them.

            All he saw was the young woman at the front of the procession, her eyes locked on him, the young woman wearing a dress the color of the sea at sunset and with her dark brown hair done up into a tight braid that swung at her hips. Her blue-blue eyes were startling, deep and endless as the ocean itself, a stunning contrast against her dark brown skin, and when he reined up before her, she looked up at him and smiled and he would always wonder how he didn’t just fall from his saddle right then and there.

            He gulped, and when he spoke, he could barely hear his own voice over the playing of the band and the cheers of the crowd of curious civilians who hung in the background. He shook his head, tugged at his collar, took off his helmet, why he didn’t know, he just had to get it off, then he swallowed hard and set his shoulders and tried once more to speak to the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

            “The Lady Katara, I presume.”

-$-$-$-$-$-

            She was glad when he took off the helmet. The helmet made him look ridiculous, and she desperately wanted a good look at his face. Then he took off the helmet and tried on a smile, and the smile was a bit pained and a bit awkward, as if he wasn’t very good at it, and his free hand was rubbing at a spot on his chest, though he didn’t seem to be aware of it, but she wasn’t entirely sure she cared.

            He was pale-skinned, like most of his people, with almond-shaped eyes that glittered gold like the loops and whorls and buttons on his uniform. Others might have called him _plain,_ or at the very least _cute,_ but she didn’t care. She took one good look at his clean-shaven face, at his short-cropped jet-black hair and his broad shoulders and his kind smile, and decided he was handsome. He was handsome and cute and she was smitten from the moment that he smiled and said, “The Lady Katara, I presume.”

            She smiled back and gave herself a shake, cursing herself for acting the silly girl, but not really caring all that much. She gathered up her skirt and curtsied like a noblewoman from the North and looked him right in the eye.

            “Only if I have the honor of meeting the Prince Zuko.”

            He blushed bright-red from brow-to-chin, and he stammered a few times before he finally choked out a reply.

            “I’m not sure I’d call it _an honor,_ my lady, but that would, indeed, be me.”

            She walked up to his side and reached out her hand, in the manner of her people.

            “The honor, Your Highness, is all mine.”

            He nodded, his skin alternating between deep blush and bone white, and she hoped she wasn’t nibbling her lip, hoped she didn’t look as nervous as she felt, then he was reaching down and lightly taking her hand.

            “Just plain _Zuko_ is just fine, my lady.”

            She gave his hand a squeeze and let it go.

            “Then you must call me _Katara._ ”

            He smiled, and bowed his head.

            “As you wish.”

            She never knew where she got the bravado, but bravado came and she threw him a wink and a sly grin.

            “I do.”

 


	2. Reincarnation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As she raced through the hills, she couldn't help but wonder if they'd somehow been here before.
> 
> As usual with Zutara Week, it's always good to provide warnings, to wit: There be adult language and adult themes lurking about, though, oddly enough, not in this story!

**Reincarnation**

 

“ZUKO?”

            “Hmm?”

            “Did you get in trouble?”

            Zuko frowned, turning his gaze from the distant horizon and pulling his ostrich-horse around until he was facing Katara. “For what?”

            Katara was facing the horizon, too, but she didn’t turn away. She was leaning back in her saddle, reins held loose in one of her hands, the wind ruffling her long wavy hair about her face. Her eyes were closed, and a soft, gentle smile was creasing her lips. For a moment, Zuko was struck dumb, unable to believe his luck, unable to even _accept_ that he could have spent the morning riding hither and yon through the rolling hills north of Miyako with someone so beautiful.

            He was struck so dumb, in fact, that he didn’t hear her reply. He gave himself a shake, cursing himself for a fool, _be yourself, that’s what everyone keeps saying, Toru in his letter and Toshiro and Azula and even Uncle, gods help me, **just be yourself, Zuko,** but **myself** is a dolt, so how’s that supposed to help me? _He turned his face back to the horizon, praying that the warmth of the sun would hide the blush on his face, and stammered out, “Um…pardon, Katara? I…um…I didn’t quite catch that…”

            There was a pause, and when he finally turned back to face her, her eyes were open, and she was smiling from ear-to-ear, though why she should be smiling at _him,_ he still couldn’t quite understand.

            “For your helmet,” she said, giving her ostrich-horse a kick and cantering forward until she was side-by-side with him, “you know, the one I stole on the day we met.”

            Zuko chuckled at the memory. He had spent the entire journey from the docks to the Palace riding beside the carriage carrying Katara, the Lady Kya, and Katara’s little sisters, chattering away, unable to believe he was actually making sense. Katara had seemed far more relaxed, leaning out of a window of the carriage, her braid flapping in the breeze like the pennant from the end of a lance, occasionally pulling moisture from the air to twirl around her fingers. At one point, she had asked if she could have the ghastly helmet he had had to lug around all day, _just to look at it,_ and he had handed it over without hesitation, not even thinking twice.

            Naturally, she had kept it.

            He laughed. It felt good to laugh. “Honestly, no one said a word about it. Toshiro…I mean, Lieutenant Mifune, the officer who was riding beside me-“

            Katara’s eyebrow popped up. “You mean, the one who kept teasing you?”

            Zuko coughed into a fist and tugged on his collar, resisting the impulse to rub at the scar on his stomach, _I have to stop doing that, it makes me look absurd._ “Well…um…he wasn’t exactly _teasing me,_ I mean, he was more…um…”

            Katara giggled, giving her reins a tug as she turned her ostrich-horse around, until she was facing one way and he was facing the other. “Of course not.” She threw him a wink, which made him compulsively grip his own reins, for fear that he would topple out of the saddle in shock. “So, what were you going to say about Lieutenant Mifune?”

            “Oh, well…um…he…uh…he made a few cracks about it, but that was all.”

            She smiled. “A few cracks, eh? Anything good?”

            _Nothing that I would be able to share with you without dying from shame._ “Nah, just, you know, soldier’s jokes.”

            Another giggle. “I’m sure. So, you won’t mind if I steal your hat again?”

            His hand flew up to the shako perched atop his head. A week had passed since they had met, which meant that his temporary commission in the Guards Hussars had – _thank the gods –_ expired. He was an infantry lieutenant again, which meant that he could once more wear his proper uniform, the duty uniform of His Majesty’s Infantry, loose-fitting trousers, sturdy boots, comfortable jacket with his two lieutenant’s stars picked out in gold on a low, loose collar, all of it simple scarlet edged with black and topped off with a shako that had his regiment’s crest attached to the front. “Well,” he said, unsure where the words were coming from, but happy that they were there, “I have to say that I would mind very much.” He drew himself up tall, back straight, chin out, and for once, he didn’t feel ridiculous. “I mean, it would’ve been discouteous to deny a lady’s humble request upon the day of her arrival in my fair land, but if I just keep handing over every piece of headgear you see me in, what will people say?”

            Something sparkled in the corners of her eyes, something bright and mischievous and beautiful. “That you’ve been bewitched by a foul Water Tribe sorceress?”

            _If only you knew, gods, if only you knew._ “I would prefer the phrase, _enchanted by a beautiful Water Tribe princess,_ but no doubt they’ll say something of the sort.”

            Something happened then, something that he wouldn’t have believed if he hadn’t seen it for himself, and even then, he could scarce credit it. Katara, the confident, independent-minded young girl he had been smitten by from the moment he laid eyes on her, _blushed._ She blushed bright red from head-to-toe, it seemed, and then a smile curled her lips, a smile that Zuko had never seen before on any girl he had ever met, a smile that spread and spread as she titled her head away and reached up to tuck a few stray hairs behind her ear.

            “Well, if that’s what you prefer, I won’t argue the point,” she said, in a voice low and thick, though it was hard for Zuko to hear for the blood that was suddenly roaring in his ears. She continued tucking hairs behind her ears, even when there was no more hair to tuck, before giving herself a shake and turning her face away ( _thought Zuko couldn’t help but notice that she kept looking back out of the corner of her eye_ ). “Still, we wouldn’t want any nasty rumors swirling around the court, besmirching your honor and my chastity, now would we?”

            Zuko was thinking a lot of things as he watched her fiddle with her hair and smile at him out of the corner of her eye, but those things, though numerous and varied, included neither his honor nor her chastity. “Well, of course not,” he managed to choke out, shifting slightly on his saddle and hoping she didn’t notice. “Anyone who dares to cast aspersions upon you would have to eat grass before breakfast.”

            She frowned. “ _Grass before breakfast?_ I’m not sure I’ve heard that phrase before…”

            He grimaced, cursing his big mouth. “I would imagine not…I would challenge them to a duel.”

            She rolled her eyes, though the blush, he noticed, remained. _As if I look any better._ “Not if I challenged them first…still, though…hmm…” She furrowed her brow and began to nibble on her bottom lip, something Zuko _really_ wished she wouldn’t do, but didn’t dare to ask her to stop. “I still really want that hat, though…I guess I’ll have to earn it. How does that sound?”

            Zuko bit down on the first remark that came to his mind, as well as the second and the third, finally settling on, “It sounds…um… _delightful._ ”

            She flashed a brand new smile. “Excellent! How about this: If I make it back to where your sister and her friend are pretending to chaperone us, I get to keep your hat.”

            He nodded, if only because it was better than allowing his mind to focus on the gutter it seemed determined to wallow in. “Very well. And if I beat you there?”

            “Well…then I guess I’ll just have to get your sister to steal it for me, instead.”

            “In that case, my lady,” he bowed from his saddle, “I accept the terms of your challenge.”

            “Excellent!”

            “So,” he continued, gathering up his reins, “when do we begin?”

            “Why, now, of course.”

            And with that, she kicked her spurs into the flanks of her ostrich-horse and shot off down the hill. She had gotten a good several-hundred-meter head start before he snapped out of his chagrin, throwing back his head and laughing as he dug in his spurs and thundered off after her.

-$-$-$-$-$-

            As the wind roared through her hair and she snapped her reins, urging the ostrich-horse to go faster, faster, _faster,_ Katara felt, for the first time since she had arrived in the Fire Nation, truly and completely _herself._ The first hour, it seemed, had been the best, leaning out of the carriage window in engaging in what could only be called _flirting_ with Zuko, but after that, _blergh._ Eight straight days of nothing but calling on people, or being called upon by people, receiving or being received. She had trundled along beside her mother, her two little sisters in tow, as they were received by Her Majesty the Fire Lady, or attended tea parties with the Fire Lord’s daughters and daughters-in-law, or sat in silence, embroidering random bits of cloth, while her mother and the Lady Ursa pretended to talk about everything except the thing they were actually talking about. And that wasn’t even getting into no less than _three_ dinner parties at the Northern Water Tribe embassy, where she and her mother had, of course, been guests-of-honor, and where she’d been forced to endure endless hours of Northern noblemen talking down to her as she was judged for the twin crimes of being both a woman and a Southerner.

            Then the morning of the ninth day had come, and Yumiko-san had informed her that _His Royal Highness the Prince Zuko is here to see you, my lady._ Katara had rushed out into the waiting area of the rooms her family had been given at the Palace, to discover the young man she’d been thinking of non-stop since her arrival. He stood in a sharp, plain uniform, a hat he told her was called a _shako_ held in the crook of his arm, sword dangling from his hip. He had bowed, tugged at his collar, stuttered and stammered, until, finally, he managed to invite her out riding in the hills north of the city, _with my sister and her friend, of course, for propriety’s sake, Her Grace your mother need not worry._

Katara hadn’t worried, and she would’ve ignored her mother if the woman had tried. Within an hour, they were cantering out of the Palace stables, Azula and an almost disturbingly cheery young girl named _Ty Lee_ riding behind them, and when Katara asked Zuko where they were going to go, he had melted her heart by saying, _Wherever you want._

_And they had._ For hours now, they had ridden up and down the hills, darting in out of traffic on the roads, teasing and laughing. Azula and Ty Lee had ditched early on, and it was just Katara and Zuko alone, _me and my Prince,_ and she was having the time of her life. Gone were the gaudy, delicate dresses she had endured all week long. Her hair was loose and natural, a waterfall rippling down her back and flowing in the wind, and she wore clothes she had brought from home, sturdy trousers covered by a long skirt and a modest tunic, all in her favorite shade of blue. They rode and they rode, and when Katara realized that the first hour had passed, and not once had Zuko tried to tell her how to handle her mount, or that she was going _too fast,_ or _shouldn’t you sit side-saddle like a proper lady,_ well…

            _That may have been when I realized how smitten I am…_

            She won the race, of course, but just barely, though Zuko didn’t seem too upset about it. He made a big show of gallantly surrendering his shako, and she would’ve been a liar if she tried to say she didn’t swoon a bit. Azula and Ty Lee seemed to have vanished, prompting Zuko to mutter, “Only the gods could possibly know where they’ve gone off to, and I honestly wouldn’t bet money on even the gods being able to keep track of them.” Their mounts needed rest, though, so they decided to stay. Katara put on her prize, tilting it forward at a jaunty angle like she had seen some of the guards at the Palace do. Zuko collapsed into laughter, and then she wanted him to show her how to act like a soldier, so he taught her. He took off his uniform jacket and draped it over her shoulders, and touched her, _really touched her,_ for the first time, endlessly adjusting her attempts to stand at attention, until she was so weak at the knees she didn’t know how she was still standing. Then, they marched in Fire Nation fashion, legs swinging out straight, great big turtle-duck-steps around and around the hill as they waited for their erstwhile chaperones to return.

            Katara honestly couldn’t remember when she had last had so much fun.

-$-$-$-$-$-

            “Zuko, can I ask you a question?”

            After an hour on the hill, Azula and Ty Lee had still not returned, so they had decided to unpack their lunches from the saddlebags and eat without them. Zuko had bent them a fire and Katara had bent some water up from a nearby stream, and before long, they were munching on bread and cheese and a hearty broth of pig-chicken and _udon_ noodles, all washed down with a bottle of fire wine. Thus, when Katara asked her question, Zuko had to quickly swallow a mouthful of food and dab his lips with a napkin before replying. “Of course you can, Katara, anything.”

            She turned and looked off to the west. The summer sun was still a long way from setting, but it had already begun its slow descent down towards the western mountains. It had been a beautiful day, hot, but not mercilessly so, and a nice cool breeze had been blowing in off the sea. That breeze was blowing now, soft and gentle, making her unbound hair dance about her head, random strands tickling her ears and her nose. On the next hill over, a pair of sparrowkeets chased each other around a tree, and for a moment, she watched them, listening to their song.

            “Have they…well…have they told you why I’m here yet?”

            Zuko could only shrug as he took a sip of wine. “Not in so many words…I’ve been told that it is of _vital importance to the safety and security of the Fire Nation_ that I show you nothing but courtesy and good will, and my mother hounds me every night for details about you, but other than that…” Another shrug.

            Katara nodded, turning away from the sparrowkeets in their tree to look at the boy she couldn’t help but think of as _her Prince. And why not? If I don’t take him, they’ll pawn him off on some random girl he barely knows, if he knows her at all._ “Do you know how they do marriages in the North?”

            Zuko made a face. “I’ve been told, yes. Boys get to pick, right? And girls don’t get to choose at all?”

            Katara sighed. “So it seems. My brother and Yue, they managed to circumvent things a bit, but not by much.” Another pause, long and heavy. They sat beneath a tall, broad tree, and shadows of the leaves danced across their skin as the wind whispered through the branches. “Are things like that, here in the Fire Nation?”

            “Not for commoners, no, they can marry whom they please, boys and girls both, but for the nobility…” He leaned back from his food, rubbed at his scar through his shirt. Katara still wore his uniform jacket, but somehow, he didn’t mind, wouldn’t have dreamed of asking for it back. “Though,” he continued, chuckling sadly, “we’re a bit more egalitarian here. In the Fire Nation, boys get as much choice as girls.”

            “Which is none,” Katara finished for him.

            He nodded. “Which is none…” He finally noticed that his hand was rubbing at his scar, snatched it away, let it wander up to the back of his neck. “So…it’s really up to you, it seems.”

            She smiled. “That’s what I’ve been told, but…I…I don’t want to be forced on you, Zuko.” Her smile faltered, shifted, changed into something new. “I don’t want to become a part of that stupid joke I keep hearing, about the Fire Nation boy being dragged to the temple by his determined mother.”

            Zuko chuckled. “Yeah…that’s an old one…still, I mean, I wouldn’t worry about it if I were you…because…I mean, just look at you…you’re smart and beautiful and just… _everything…_ and…I mean…”

            She reached out, took his hand, entwined her fingers through his own. “Do you like me?”

            He blinked in shock. “Of course I do; I’d have be dead not to. Do you…I mean…um…” He looked down at her hand in his, unsure what to do, no girl had ever held his hand before, it had never occurred to him that it was an option. “Do you…well…I mean…do you… _like me…too…?”_

She rolled her eyes and gave his hand a squeeze. “ _Duh,_ or did you think that I go riding around in the hills with boys out of boredom?”

            He cracked a smile. “Hey, I’ve been to a few diplomatic receptions; carving one’s eyes out with a rusty spoon starts to sound like a good idea after an hour.”

            She laughed, squeezed his hand one more time, and let go. “You have a point…still…Zuko…?”

            “Yes…?”

            “I’m not here to decide if I want to ride rings around the city with you…”

            “No…you’re not…”

            “Do you…would you want to marry me?”

            All he could do was shrug and rub the back of his neck. “I…I never thought anyone would actually ask me that, you know, would actually want my opinion…so, I mean…I…I honestly don’t know how to answer that…” He shrugged again, looked up into her eyes, and smiled. “I know I like you, though, and that I wouldn’t have to be dragged to the temple. Do you…well…how are you thinking about the subject…?”

            She rolled her eyes and shook her head. “ _The subject?_ Really?” She laughed, then started to nibble on her lip once more. “Well…I’ll tell you what, I’m thinking that it wouldn’t be the _worst_ thing to happen to me, and I definitely have a bit of a crush on you, and why should my idiot big brother be the only one to get to live in a palace? So…how about you be my official escort to your uncle’s birthday ball, dance with no one but me, and take me out on these rides at least once a week until I make up my mind?”

            He straightened his back and gave a little bow. “It would be my honor, my lady, though…aren’t I supposed to be the one to ask _you_ to allow _me_ to escort you to the ball?”

            She giggled and winked. “Pro-tip, _Your Royal Highness_ : You’re going to have to up your game, if you want to beat me to _anything._ ”

            He returned the wink, though he couldn’t shake the feeling that, while Katara looked downright _seductive_ when she winked, he looked like someone having a stroke. “I’ll make a note of that, my lady.”

            She nodded and threw out her chin in a regal pose. “See that you do, Your Highness, see that you do.”

-$-$-$-$-$-

            It was another hour before Azula and Ty Lee showed up again, jabbering on about some strange and mysterious adventure that they refused to give anything more than the vaguest hints about. Even after they returned, it was at least another hour before they started heading back to the Palace, and even then, only because Zuko was afraid that, if they put it off any longer, Katara’s mother would raise the city in alarm, and Katara knew her mother well enough to not risk it.

            They rode back at a slow, relaxed pace, their ostrich-horses trotting along the side of one of the smaller roads into the city, birds tittering and singing and flitting about between the trees, farmers working in the fields, carts trundling through the dust, and the sun slowly sinking behind the mountains, until the world was painted in an ethereal, blood-red glow. Azula and Ty Lee rode a good twenty meters ahead, going on about whatever it was they’d done that day, laughing loudly and lamenting that they hadn’t been able to steal Mai away to join in, while behind them, Zuko and Katara rode side-by-side, as close as their ostrich-horses would allow, stealing glances at each other and basking in the warm, soft quiet of the gathering dusk.

            “Zuko?”

            “Katara?”

            “Do you…this is going to sound stupid…”

            “I can assure you that it won’t.”

            “Well…you do believe in reincarnation?”

            “Like, with the Avatar and stuff?”

            “Yes, but for normal people, not just for Avatars.”

            “Well…honestly…I don’t know…I don’t really think about it all that much. My uncle’s the philosophical one in the family, he can rattle on about such issues for _hours_ , but…I just really don’t know what I believe. Why?”

            “Oh, I don’t know, it’s just…you ever get the feeling that we’ve done all this before?”

            “How do you mean?”

            “Well…the other night, I had this…just…this _vivid_ dream. There was a ball, a masquerade ball, and my brother was there, and this other Water Tribe girl, though I was upset with her, I don’t know why, but anyways, forget about that. I was wearing this beautiful dress, I really stood out, I think we were in the Earth Kingdom, everyone else was wearing greens and browns, I was the only one in blue, and…and you were there, you had a mask on but I knew it was you, you were wearing a uniform and you looked just _splendid_ and…we danced the night away, or, at the very least, we danced until my little sister Kanna leaped into my bed and woke me up the next morning, but…it was just so _vivid,_ so _real_ , that I just…gods, I must sound like a fool…”

            “No, you don’t.”

            “Really?”

            “I…I don’t know if I believe in reincarnation, for Avatars or otherwise, but…I had the same dream, too.”

            “Really?”

            “Swear to Agni.”

            “Well…maybe it’s a sign.”

            “Maybe, Katara, maybe…though, is it a good sign, or a bad one?”

            “I think…I’ve _decided_ , here and now, that it’s a good sign.”

            “That works?”

            “Why not?”

            “…you tend to get your way, don’t you?”

            “Hey, by the end of the summer, you could end up knowing that better than anyone.”

            “Well, I can think of worse things to happen…”


	3. A Parade Ground Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As she waited for Zuko's regiment to march around the bend, Katara couldn't help but think about how ominous the endless ranks of soldiers seemed.
> 
> This story doesn't really fit with any of this weeks prompts, so screw it, let's just make it its own little thing. Woo!
> 
> Today’s story does, indeed, have some adult language (thanks, Azula) and some adult themes, so, be warned, little ones!

**A Parade-Ground Interlude**

 

IT WAS A GLORIOUS DAY FOR A PARADE.

            It was His Majesty the Fire Lord Iroh’s sixty-second birthday, and the weather, for once that seemingly endless summer, was somewhat pleasant, hot, of course, but not unbearably so. Thin clouds scudded through the sky, weakening the sun’s power, a cool breeze wafted through the streets, and the parade route had been draped with sun screens. The sights and smells were out of this world, the parade route packed on both sides from one end of the city to the other, tens-of-thousands of people waving flags – both the black-flame-on-scarlet-field of the Royal Banner and the red-sun-on-white-field of the National Banner – and cheering themselves hoarse and laughing and singing songs both high-brow and low. Vendors were having a field day, making a killing as they sold meat on skewers and grilled vegetables and cups of noodles and bowls of fire flakes, along with endless rivers of beer and rice wine and _sake,_ all specially subsidized for the day by His Royal Majesty the Fire Lord ( _though, as usual, enterprising vendors skimmed where they could, like the firebending vendors who charged extra for **hot** sake_). In about an hour, the parade would begin, and thirty-thousand soldiers would troop past the reviewing stands to salute His Majesty while the people screamed and shouted and raised cups and mugs and bottles to the health of their Fire Lord and His Government, for, though the people voted for the government ( _or, at least, some of them did, for the House of Commons, at least_ ), the gods chose their Fire Lord, and for once, they had chosen a Fire Lord the people could be proud of.

            Katara saw none of it; by the time she reached the spot Azula had saved for her in the Royal Box, she was far too angry. For nearly a month, she had enjoyed a degree of freedom she could scarcely have imagined in her wildest dreams. She rode through the hills around the city with Zuko, learned how to enjoy the seemingly endless receptions her mother insisted on dragging her to, read newspapers in the morning and perused the Palace Library to her heart’s content. Every other day, Azula and Ty Lee would collect her and they would go to where Zuko’s regiment was camped outside the city, and they would watch the soldiers drill and practice for the coming parade and maneuvers and when dinner came they ate with Zuko and his fellow officers, sipped wine, and laughed at the soldiers’ jokes that Zuko’s friend, Lieutenant Watanabe, insisted on telling, no matter how much Zuko begged him not to. Katara had even tried one of the cigarettes that everyone in the Fire Nation seemed to be smoking endless chains of, and though she had hacked out half a lung and sworn never to touch tobacco again, she felt liberated by indulging in an act so forbidden.

            Then her father arrived, and in just three days, her new life had come to a grinding halt. Chief Hakoda had arrived on a ship filled with a dozen other Southern chiefs and their families, and had been horrified by the liberties his wife had allowed their eldest daughter. A lecture had duly followed on the _proper behavior of a young maiden of the Water Tribes,_ and the changes had been immediate. No longer was Katara allowed to read the newspapers or go anywhere without a male escort. Any book she attempted to borrow from the Palace Library had to be approved by her father, and most of them were not, and when Zuko came to call, looking crisp and devilishly handsome in his uniform, the Chief Hakoda had pulled the prince aside and harangued him for an hour, until Katara, watching through a crack in a door, was afraid that she was going to storm in and put her fist through her father’s face.

            Needless to say, when the expected invitation to sit in the Royal Box came from _Her Royal Highness the Princess Azula,_ Hakoda saw that only his daughter was invited, and decided that, sadly, Katara could not go. Only the intervention of Yue, who had arrived along with the Northern Royal Family and Sokka the day before Hakoda and the Southern Chiefs, along with some fast-talking from Sokka and a visit from the Lady Ursa, had forced Hakoda to bend, and even then, he had tried to send one of Katara’s male cousins with her as a chaperone. Said cousin had been stopped at the entrance to the Royal Box, but that didn’t help Katara feel any less furious by the time she found her place.

            Azula, as was her wont, commented immediately, her eyes flying wide in what could only have been appreciation as she said, “Gods, Katara, you look positively _fuming._ ”

            Beside her, Ty Lee’s own eyes went wide, though in shock and horror rather than admiration. “You poor thing! If you were a firebender, smoke would be billowing out of your ears!”

            Just beyond Ty Lee sat the Lady Arinori Mai, another of Azula’s childhood friends, who lifted up a glass of blood-red wine and drawled, as only she could, “I was wondering why the wine was quivering like Mt. Fuji was about to erupt.”

            Mai’s contribution didn’t make Katara feel any calmer. Truth was, she still didn’t know how she felt about the tall, slim, radiantly beautiful Lady Mai. Katara had no illusions about herself or her looks, and yet, next to the Lady Mai, she felt plain and awkward as a newborn turtle-duck, nevermind the fact that the girl had, at one time, come very close to being betrothed to Zuko. The match had been nixed by the Fire Lord, because Mai and Zuko were second cousins on both sides and the Fire Lord had long been trying to get noble families to stop being so incestuous, but Katara couldn’t quite shake the feeling that _the Lady Arinori Mai_ would make a _far_ better princess than she ever would.

            _But that doesn’t matter anymore,_ she told herself, shaking herself loose and warmly returning Ty Lee’s hugs and kisses. _I’m here now, and that’s what matters. I’m here, I’m away from my father for a few hours, and I even managed to walk out of our apartments today with the dress I picked out._ That had taken quite a bit of subterfuge, aided by Katara’s own mother, whose irritation with Chief Hakoda matched Katara’s own, but what mattered was that she had it. It was in a Southern style, with an emphasis on comfort and utility, but it was made thin and form-fitting like Fire Nation dresses, and though the neckline was modest by Fire Nation standards, it would’ve been downright scandalous back home.

            It was also made from the most lustrous shades and hues of blues that Katara and Azula had been able to find, and Katara felt that there was no way Zuko would miss her when his regiment trooped past.

            She was settling herself into her seat when she caught the sharp, pungent smell of tobacco. At first, she ignored it; everyone in the Fire Nation seemed to smoke, both the men and the women, and she had learned to live with it. But then she turned to her left and saw that the smoker was none other than the Princess Azula herself, and before she knew what she was doing, she had knocked the cigarette from Azula’s mouth, prompting a string of curses that would’ve made a sailor blush.

            Katara ignored them, leaning in to hiss, “ _The hell do you think you’re doing?!”_

Azula glared right back, snarling, “Having a gods-damn fucking cigarette, the fuck does it look like I’m doing?” This prompted Ty Lee to chirp, “For the love of the gods, Zula, is the language necessary?” while Mai just rolled her eyes, sipped her wine, and snapped her fingers at a passing servant.

            Katara didn’t back down; no less than three bending matches against the princess had taught her to never blink and never retreat where Azula was concerned. “My father’s already pitching a fit over _how bad of an influence_ he thinks you are; what do you think he’ll do if he sees you smoking right next to me?”

            Azula rolled her eyes and went digging for the cigarette case she kept in her bra. “Like I care? Can he even see us?”

            Katara turned around until she found the two benches that had been set aside for the delegation from the South, the front bench for the Chiefs and their kinsmen, the back bench for the wives and daughters. “He will when he gets here.”

            Azula brightened up. “So, he’s not here yet?”

            Katara turned back to Azula and glared. “No, not yet, _but he will be,_ and I’ll thank you to _not_ cause a diplomatic incident.”

            That prompted a snort of derision from Mai. “It’d only be fair; your lot have already caused one.”

            Ty Lee shot up in her seat, excited by the prospect of gossip. “Ooh, I didn’t hear about _this!_ What happened?”

            Sadly, Katara knew all too well. “The wife of Chief Pamiuq of the Chukcha Tribe just had a baby, and she started nursing the child in the middle of an audience with Their Majesties.”

            Azula snorted, muttering, “And you should’ve _seen_ the look on my aunt’s face, _it was amazing,_ ” while Ty Lee looked properly horrified and Mai, noting something in Katara’s voice, leaned forward, quirking an eyebrow in the first real emotion Katara had ever seen on the girl’s face. “You don’t seem very put off by the event.”

            Katara crossed her arms, slumping back into her seat and shooting Mai a glare. “I don’t see what the problem is. It’s a natural part of life and absolutely nothing to be ashamed of.”

            “Well,” Ty Lee said, casting her voice into a pitch-perfect mockery of the kind of highborn ladies Katara had seen _far_ too much of over the past month, “I agree, _it’s nothing to be ashamed of,_ but even _I_ know that you don’t do that in polite society.”

            Katara rolled her eyes. “Why, is it something only commoners do?”

            “In public, at least,” Mai drawled, raising her wineglass in salute. “See? You’re learning.”

            Katara show Mai a deadly look, while Ty Lee giggled and slapped Mai on the arm and Azula sighed and stuffed her cigarette case back into her bra, acknowledging defeat ( _or remembering a lecture from her mother, which Katara felt was far more likely)_. Feeling she had won some sort of victory, Katara turned to wave at a servant carrying a tray of glasses and a flagon of wine. “You guys really are status obsessed, aren’t you?” Katara said, moving the conversation along.

            Ty Lee rolled her eyes. “You have _no_ idea. You should try being a commoner.”

            Mai sipped her glass. “Asami’s a commoner, and she does just fine.”

            Ty Lee scoffed in her special Ty Lee way. “There’s _me common,_ and there’s _other common._ Asami’s father is the richest man in the Fire Nation, and her family has almost as many servants as _yours._ ”

            Mai just popped an eyebrow. “I highly doubt that.” Katara believed it; the Arinori Clan was one of the richest and oldest clans in the Fire Nation, with a recorded history going back over two-thousand years ( _or so it was claimed; from what Zuko had told her, given the Fire Nation’s history of vicious civil wars, the terms **recorded history** tended to be wishful thinking_). “Though,” Mai admitted, pursing her lips and holding out a glass for a servant to refill, “to be fair, the Satos could _definitely_ give the Terajimas a run for their money.”

            Ty Lee accepted her own glass of wine from the servant who was attending Mai. “Well, that’s a bit harsh, don’t you think? I mean, just take the Terajima estate on Ember Island…”

            As they fell into a good-natured argument, Azula rolled her eyes and groaned. “Well, there _they_ go. As for you,” she said, turning her full attention to Katara, “how’re you feeling?”

            The servant Katara had called over earlier had arrived, and she nibbled her lip in worry as she accepted a glass of wine and passed another to Azula. “Oh, just…” She took a sip of her wine, rolled it around in her mouth, swallowed, took another. “I just…oh, I dunno. The past three days have just been… _blergh._ ”

            Azula made a face around her own glass, her free hand compulsively opening and closing, no doubt from a nicotine fit. “Yeah, trust me, _I feel you._ You have the same look I do, whenever I catch some random woman giggling behind her fan at me. I suddenly feel like I’m ten and my gods-damn piece of shit father hasn’t been banished to his little island and it’s all I can do not to set something on fire.”

            Katara didn’t know what to say to that, so she focused on her wine. She hated it when Azula talked like that, _or looked like that._ Whenever the princess caught her brother rubbing that spot on his chest, her eyes would do dark and her voice would go cold. The subject of the man named _Ozai_ was taboo at the Fire Nation’s court. The Lady Ursa wore high-necked dresses to cover a ghastly scar on her neck, Zuko never took his shirt off in public, and it was said that the Fire Lord hadn’t spoken his brother’s name in seven years, but Katara couldn’t bring herself to ask what had happened. She just… _she didn’t feel it was her place,_ that she hadn’t earned the _right_ to know yet, so she waited and fretted and worried and tried to make Zuko smile whenever he looked sad.

            Casting about for literally anything else to talk about, Katara looked across to the smaller set of stands on the opposite side of the parade route and saw a grumpy-looking man in Earth Kingdom colors. Pointing, she asked, “Is that who I think it is?”

            Azula gave herself a shake, and Katara couldn’t help but notice that the girl leaped at the change of topic. “If you’re thinking that it’s the Ambassador from Ba Sing Se, then yes, it’s _exactly_ who you think it is.”

            Katara made a face. “He doesn’t look happy.”

            Azula gave a derisive snort. “He shouldn’t. He’s been seated in the perfect spot to see just how strong my uncle’s alliance is. He’s stuck over there, with a prime view of where the might of the Fire Nation will go marching past, while also having to watch my uncle make a big show of greeting all of his allies.”

            Katara nodded, though she couldn’t help but notice that the man did not sit alone. Orange-robed representatives of the Eastern Air Temple and many of the minor temples that followed it sat with him, and she grimaced at the sight of the Chief of the Inupiat Tribe. That sign of disunity in the South troubled her; the western tribes leaned towards the Fire Nation, and the central tribes – like her own – looked to the North, but the eastern tribes were all too likely to declare for Ba Sing Se, and that meant intertribal war for the first time in forty years. “I was wondering why he was put over there,” she said, pushing her worries aside. “Did you hear the news?” Her father may have forbidden her newspapers, but Yumiko-san was still her lady’s maid, and Yumiko-san kept sneaking them in.

            “Which news, about the Avatar or about Gaoling?”

            Katara grimaced. “Both.”

            The news in the morning’s papers had been anything but good. Word had leaked out of the Southern Air Temple that the Avatar had suffered a heart attack. The old man had survived, but just barely, and no one knew how much longer he would last. As if some perverse playwright had arranged it ahead of time, word had also come from the Earth Kingdom, where General Kuvira had stormed into the southeastern Earth Kingdom and smashed an army of petty kings at Gaoling, half of which had deserted to her side before the battle. Now, only the Kingdoms of Omashu in the south and Goryeo in the northwest remained outside of Ba Sing Se’s control, both kingdoms that the Fire Nation _and_ the Northern Water Tribe were pledged by treaty to defend.

            Katara looked up at the sky, at a brilliant blue roof threaded with wisps of cloud turned a golden white by the sun, and shuddered. _How can it be so beautiful, when the stormclouds are looming just below the horizon?_ “So, it’s really going to be war, isn’t it?”

            Azula sighed. “As soon as the Avatar kicks the bucket, I don’t see how it can be avoided.”

            Katara tore her gaze from the sky. She felt like crying, though she didn’t know why. “That means Zuko will go to battle.”

            Azula nodded. “Yes, it does. He wouldn’t stand for being left behind, damn his honorable soul.” A pause, long and heavy, and then, “Makes you think twice about going through with this marriage thing, huh?”

            Katara rounded on the princess, blue eyes full of fire. “If you think that, you don’t know me at all.”

            Azula finally cracked a smile. “Have I mentioned that I like you? Because I do.”

            Katara’s heart swelled, but before she could answer, a fanfare of trumpets and tsungi horns sounded, loud as the end of the world. The roar of the crowd somehow doubled in volume, and everyone stood and started to lean forward, Katara and Azula included. They craned their necks until, finally, they caught sight of His Royal Majesty the Fire Lord’s Household Horse Guards trotting around a bend in the road, resplendent in their dragon-shaped-helmets and their breastplates of scarlet-and-black-and-gold. They rode armored komodo-rhinos, their swords drawn and flashing in the sun, their dragon pennants and dragon banners and red-and-black-and-gold helmet plumes snapping in the wind. They saluted the Royal Box as they passed, while behind them trotted a detachment of the Royal Horse Guards of the Northern Water Tribe, blue-and-white-coated heavy cavalry with long wicked lances mounted on buffalo-yaks freshly brushed until their pure white coats shined, providing a stark contrast to the dark brown skin of the cavalrymen. More regiments came after, a detachment of the King of Omashu’s own Horse Guards, and one of the King of Goryeo’s Horse Guards, and then the rest of the Fire Nation’s mounted Guards regiments started trotting past, each one saluting the Royal Box as they passed. For each salute, the Fire Lord bowed, and cannon boomed from the Palace and the fortresses ringing the harbor and the ships of the Home Fleet riding at anchor. The crowds went wild with glee and for a moment, as she continued to crane her neck, looking for the banner of the Ninety-Fourth Regiment of Foot, ignoring the freshly cleaned cannon pulled by dragon-moose and the regiments of the Foot Guards turtle-duck-stepping past, tall black fur shakos rippling in the breeze and polished muskets glittering in the sun, Katara forgot all about the war that lurked just over the horizon, the war that always came, again and again, when Avatars fell.

            No, she pushed it all away, pushed away her trepidation and her nerves, forgot about her father’s prudishness and the dark shadow of a former prince named Ozai, and instead rounded on Azula, running her hands over her dress and fiddling with her hair. “You don’t think Zuko will miss me, do you? Does my dress stand out enough? How do I look?”

            Azula rolled her eyes and socked Katara in the arm. “Don’t worry about it, you’re the only one he’ll even bother looking for.”

            Katara wasn’t reassured, but she was willing to take it, especially if it made her forget how ominous it looked, the way the endless serried ranks of soldiers, muskets tipped with newly shined bayonets, marched around the next bend in the road and disappeared from sight.

 


	4. Memories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even when their lives were happy and their courtship was - for once - easy, things always came back around to his father.
> 
> Okay, today’s entry definitely needs a few trigger warnings: There will be some adult language, adult themes, and descriptions of domestic violence, because Ozai just has to show up and rain on everyone’s parade.

**Memories**

“SO,” AZULA SAID FROM WHERE SHE LEANED AGAINST THE MIRROR, ONCE MORE SMOKING ONE OF HIS CIGARETTES, “HOW IS THIS UNIFORM BETTER THAN THE GUARDS ONE?”

            Zuko frowned as he fiddled with his collar with one hand and patted down some stray hairs atop his head with the other. “Well, I wouldn’t so much call it _better_ as I’d call it _less awful._ ”

            Azula scoffed, blowing thick streams of smoke from both her nostrils. “I honestly don’t see much of a difference.”

            Zuko shot her a look out of the corner of his eye as he adjusted the way his _katana_ hung from his belt for the hundredth time. “That’s because you’re a silly girl who knows nothing of soldiering.”

            Azula rolled her eyes and flipped him an obscene gesture. “Bite me, Zu-Zu. Still,” she continued, taking another deep drag and pausing just long enough to blow a perfect smoke ring, “you do look a damn sight more comfortable.”

            He smiled at his reflection in the mirror. He _was_ a damn sight more comfortable. He was still stuffed into a dress uniform, but it was his _own_ dress uniform, the dress uniform of a simple lieutenant of His Majesty’s Infantry. It was still all scarlet red and ebony black trimmed with far too much gold lace, and he still had to contend with the absurdly high collar that threatened to slowly choke him to death, but it was the uniform he felt comfortable in because it was the uniform he had earned. It was far less gaudy than the Guards Hussars uniform he had been forced to greet Katara in, for one, and he wouldn’t have to contend with either the skin-tight pants or that horrid dragon-helmet. No, now his trousers hung loose and comfortable, and his headgear would be a brand-new shako bought to replace the one Katara had stolen. He had had to wrap a scarlet sash trimmed with gold around his waist, leaving a tasseled length hanging by his right thigh, but even that he didn’t mind.

            _No,_ he thought with a sigh, _what I mind are the medals._ He had five. One was for skill at firebending, two others for marksmanship (one for the musket and the other for the pistol), and a fourth was a Good Conduct Medal, which, as far as he could tell, the Army handed out to anyone who made it through a year without getting flogged for something. That left only the dinner plate hanging from around his neck, the medal for the Order of the Chrysanthemum, into which, as a member of the Royal Family, he had been automatically inducted on his eighteenth birthday. He hadn’t wanted it, but his mother and his uncle had insisted, and so there it was, making him feel awkward and uncomfortable.

            The only decoration he appreciated was the one that was the hardest to see, the black steel _katana_ sheathed and dangling from his left hip, awarded only to those who graduated first in their class from the Army Academy at Shu Jing. _And even that I’m conflicted about,_ he thought with a mental groan. _Toru should’ve gotten it._ “You know what the worst part of being royalty is?”

            “The endless court functions?” Azula offered as she tossed her cigarette out a window. “The massive rolls of nobility we have to memorize? That awful language tutor we had to endure when we were kids?”

            “Hey, Iwakura-san was alright,” he said, turning sideways to get a look at his profile. “You just didn’t like him because he kept smacking you with that stupid bamboo cane of his, because you refused to memorize _The Analects._ ”

            “That’s because _The Analects_ are stupid and boring and dumb and don’t argue, you think so, too. But if Iwakura-san wasn’t the worst part about being royalty, what is?”

            He turned again, the better to examine the other side of his profile. “All the undeserved honors one just kind of blunders into.”

            “You would have a problem with that…oh, and there’s a piece of lint on your left ass-cheek.”

            Zuko flipped his sister his own obscene gesture, even as he craned his neck around to check. “Shouldn’t you be getting ready?”

            “Ass, I _am_ ready.”

            He could only roll his eyes at that. She was, of course; Azula was _always_ ready, whether it be for their uncle’s birthday ball or a sparring match out on the Palace practice field in the pouring rain. And, _as usual,_ he thought with a grimace, she was looking fabulous. Her dress was of the latest fashion, long and flowing and an exquisitely chosen swirl of bright colors that perfectly off-set the eyes of glittering gold they both shared. Her long jet black hair had been carefully done up in a tight bun, leaving two thick locks to frame her face, and she had only applied enough make-up to accentuate what she already had. Unable to think of any real criticism, he offered, “Are you responsible for that hair-do?”

            Azula reached up and patted the bun. “Of course not; it’s all Ty Lee’s doing, and I think it’s marvelous. Wait until you see what she’s done to Mai’s…shit, danger close.”

            Zuko whirled around on his heel while Azula pushed off from the mirror and patted the wrinkles from her dress, just in time for their mother to step through the doors and into the room. Zuko had to resist the urge to blink in surprise, and even his sister gasped softly.

            The Lady Ursa, their mother, looked more beautiful than they had seen her in _years._ She stood tall and proud, wearing her usual ensemble, long-sleeved, high-necked dress, hair in a tight braid that had been coiled into a tight bun at the nape of neck, but somehow, she just looked… _different._ Years had melted away from her face, and when she smiled, she smiled from ear-to-ear, even as tears pricked in the corners of her eyes.

            “Oh,” she said, clasping her gloved hands to her chest, “my children, my wonderful, beautiful children, you just look…oh, you both look _marvelous_ tonight.”

            Zuko didn’t even try to fight the blush, while his sister shifted her weight from foot-to-foot and tried her best to sound flippant as she said, “Oh, Mother, you _always_ say that.”

            Their mother came towards them, holding out her hands until she had taken one of each of theirs. “I know, you’re my children and I love you dearly, but I mean it _double_ tonight.” She gave their hands a squeeze, then released them, so that with one she could fiddle with Zuko’s collar while using the other to dab at the tears in her eyes. “You just look so _handsome_ in that uniform, Zuko, and you, Azula,” she continued, rounding on her daughter to cup Azula’s face in both her hands, “you look _magnificent._ You’re going to be the prettiest girl at the ball, _easy._ ”

            Zuko watched, astonished as always when their mother showed her power, as his sister blushed from head-to-toe and started fiddling with one of the gloves that covered her arms to up above her elbows. “Oh, well, you _would_ say that, _Mother,_ ” she muttered, doing her best to look poised and royal and failing miserably. “Besides,” she continued, still soldiering on as she rolled her head towards Zuko, “I’m sure Zu-Zu here would disagree.”

            “Probably,” their mother agreed, giving her daughter a kiss on the forehead, “but as beautiful as Katara may be, she’s not _my_ daughter, so my opinion will remain the same.” She brushed her fingers along Azula’s cheeks, before finally releasing her, stepping back to wipe the tears from her eyes and give them both a final look. “You two are the best thing that ever happened to me, have I ever told you that?”

            “Even that time when you told Zula to be nice to King Bumi’s grandson and she ended up challenging him to a bending duel instead?” Zuko offered, earning a glare and a stuck-out tongue from his sister.

            Their mother just sighed and dabbed at her eyes. “ _Especially_ then, because it reminds me of my own mother, who cursed me to have a daughter just like me. Now,” she finished, giving her eyes a final dab and shaking herself into the prim and proper picture of nobility, “I’m afraid there is business to attend to. Azula, I need you to come with me, I made the mistake of letting Ty Lee into my jewelry box and now she’s having a breakdown from all the options, and Zuko, your uncle needs to see you before you go meet the Lady Katara.”

            With a final shot to the arm, Azula went off after their mother, googling her eyes at her brother over her brother the whole way out, leaving him to glare and stick out his tongue before, his mother and his sister gone, he turned back to the mirror, made a few final adjustments, then marched out the door.

-$-$-$-$-$-

            “Didn’t you wear that dress before?”

            The question came from Katara’s sister Kanna, who, being only twelve-years-old, did not tend to express opinions that Katara put a lot of value in. She focused on herself in the mirror, fiddling with her dress and using said mirror to shoot her little sister a _look_. “Hush, you,” she said, trying to sound stern but unable to banish the smile from her face. “What do you know?”

            Kanna shrugged. She was perched atop a random stool, kicking her legs back-and-forth, delighting in how her dress’s skirt swished and swirled through the air. “I know enough to know that you’ve worn that dress before.”

            _Tui and La, give me strength._ “Well, I’ll have you know that it’s _not_ something I’ve worn before.”

            “It is, too. You wore it when we arrived in the Fire Nation.”

            Katara turned on her little sister, hands on her hips, hoping she looked more ferocious than she felt, though, if she had to judge by her sister’s unperturbed expression, she was failing in spectacular fashion. “Yes, it’s the same pattern, but I didn’t like the cut and style, so I had a new one made. See?” she continued, pinching a bit of her skirt and holding it up. “I had them use a thicker fabric, cut a bit from the train so it’s not so cumbersome, raised the neckline, and got rid of those silly puffed sleeves you’re so enamored of.”

            Kanna crossed her arms and glared. “I like my puffed sleeves, _thank you very much,_ and there’s nothing you can say to make me change my mind, and besides, you’re still wearing the silly gloves.”

            Katara held up a hand. “Yes, I know,” she said, running her fingers along the white lace that went up to above her elbow, “but social etiquette is a harsh mistress, point is,” she finished, turning back to the mirror in a rustle of skirt, “it’s a different dress, so _there._ ”

            If Kanna was impressed, she didn’t show it, giving the kind of theatric eye roll that only twelve-year-olds were truly capable of. “Whatever, you’re only wearing that pattern because your stupid Prince said it looked pretty on you.”

            That was very much true, but that didn’t mean Katara had to admit it. “That has nothing to do with anything, you little monster,” she replied, as she carefully curled a lock of hair around her finger, draping it just in front of her right ear, before using the mirror to stick her tongue out at her sister, “so _nyah._ ”

            Kanna giggled, decidedly unimpressed. “That’s not what _Sokka_ says.”

            Katara gritted her teeth. _Oh, Mother Akna, why couldn’t you have made me an only child?_ “Well, Sokka can just go-“

            “Your brother can do what, my dear?”

            Kanna squealed with delight, as Katara whipped around in time to catch the sight of her little sister hurling herself into their mother’s arms. Kya, Chieftess of the Yuupik of the Southern Water Tribes, known in the Fire Nation as _Her Grace the Lady Kya,_ bent down to give her daughter a big hug, prompting Kanna to point at Katara and say, “Hey, Mom, I’m pretty sure Katara was about to say something rude about Sokka.”

            Kya laughed and ruffled Kanna’s hair, prompting the twelve-year-old to groan and duck out of the way. “No doubt your brother deserved it, sweetheart,” Kya said, before grabbing Kanna by the shoulders and ushering her towards the door. “Now, go bother your _other_ two sisters, I need to talk to Katara.” The girl protested, but not strongly, ducking out the door, though not without a tongue stuck out as a parting shot before the door closed.

            Katara stomped a foot as she turned back to her mirror. “I swear to La, Mother, I’m going to toss that child into the sea someday.”

            Kya rolled her eyes as she stepped up behind Katara and began fiddling with her hair. “Which just so happens to be something I had to stop your brother from doing on a daily basis when you were the same age.”

            “Yeah, well, he deserved whatever it was that I was doing to him.”

            “Probably, boys generally do, though…I _am_ curious as to what you were going suggest that he do.”

            Katara thought of the actual answer, rejected it, along with three or four alternatives, before settling on, “That he needs to talk a long walk off a short pier, of course.”

            That got another laugh out of her mother. “Maybe, but knowing your brother, he’d walk off the pier and into a treasure chest full of priceless valuables that just happened to be floating by.”

            Katara leaned closer to the mirror, because she just wasn’t quite happy with how her bangs were sweeping across her forehead. “Well, at least he’d break his leg in the process.”

            “Ha! Probably, which would allow you to heal him while mercilessly mocking him, so, you see, the gods are always just in the end.”

            That brought a smile to Katara’s face. “That sounds nice.”

            Her mother clucked her tongue as she busied herself with getting Katara’s hair to cascade down her back in the proper manner. “You really should be nicer to your brother, dear; if he and Yue hadn’t intervened, your father would’ve tried the same act with the ball tonight as he did with the parade today.”

            That brought Katara up short. Her father had always been over-protective and just an all-around _prude_ where his daughters were concerned, but now he was getting ridiculous. She shot up straight, whirling around to face her mother, her arms crossed and an annoyed expression on her face. “Just _what_ is his problem, anyways?”

            Her mother frowned. “What do you mean?”

            Katara groaned, waving a hand in the general direction of her parents’ room. “Just… _all of this._ Ever since he got here, he’s been even more of a crank than usual. What’s his problem? Do you guys not want me to marry Zuko anymore?”

            Her mother leaned back, her arms crossed, and for a moment, Katara was struck by how much looking at her mother was like looking at an age-progressed portrait of herself. _It’s uncanny sometimes. I wonder how she feels about it?_

“First, _young lady,”_ Kya began, ticking her points off the fingers of an outstretched hand, “I _don’t_ appreciate your _tone._ Second, I, at least, would _love_ for you to marry the Prince. He’s a wonderful young man, nevermind all the political considerations, which, as far as I’m concerned, are beside the point. And _third,_ your father’s problem is that he doesn’t want you to marry _anyone._ You’re his favorite daughter and he’s terrified of letting you go.”

            A lot of things threw Katara for a loop in that speech, but she decided to settle on the last. “Wait, _I’m_ his favorite? Are you sure you’re not confusing me with Estuuya?” That being, Katara’s youngest sister, who was all of seven-years-old.

            “I’ve been married to your father for over twenty years, Katara, I like to think that I know who my husband’s favorite child is.”

            “Okay, _point,_ but still…is there something you guys aren’t telling me? Is it about Zuko’s father, that horrible person that no one talks about? Because if Dad thinks he’s going to start in on that whole, _blood is like water, it will always find its way into its true course_ business, you can tell him from me that-“

            Kya raised both of her hands, stopping Katara in mid-tirade. “No, it’s not about that. Like I said, he’s just terrified of letting you go, because deep down inside, he’s a big baby, _especially_ when it comes to you. Does the story of Zuko’s father give him pause? Of _course_ it does, but that’s neither here nor there, you could be marrying poor Nanook back home and your father would _still_ find something to object to.”

            Katara almost gagged at the name of the boy back home whom her family had spent most of her childhood trying to steer her towards. “Really? You’re going to drag _Nanook_ into this? And while we’re on the subject, what _is_ this big, horrible secret about Zuko’s father that everyone keeps _not talking about_ while also talking about it?”

            Katara watched as her mother crossed her arms and looked away, all while nibbling her bottom lip in a vaguely familiar way. “It’s…it’s complicated, Katara. The memories are…they’re still raw, here in the Palace. It’s considered the shame of the Royal Family, and considering some of the previous Fire Lords, that’s saying something.” Kya took a deep breath, let it out, chuckled softly. “Oh, Katara, this isn’t what I came in for. I just wanted to come in and fuss over your hair and see you in your beautiful dress…”

            Katara bit down on an urge to burst into tears, _gods, I’m feeling emotional tonight, it’s starting to really get on my nerves,_ instead reaching out and taking her mother’s hands. “I know, Mom…I don’t know how we always end up bickering…”

            Her mother rolled her eyes. “It’s because you’re just like me, that’s why. From the day I was born until the day I married your father and left the house, your grandmother and I bickered over something _every day._ ”

            Katara wasn’t sure she believed that. “Really? You and Gran-Gran? Why?”

            “Because, my dear,” Kya said, squeezing Katara’s hands tight, “like you, I always knew I was right, and I had no problem letting the rest of the world know it. Now, come here,” she said, pressing on through a voice thick with emotion, “give your mother a hug and a kiss before I burst into tears over how beautiful and grown up you are, and remember, no matter what anyone else says, no matter what we might think or want, your life is your own; share it with whomever you choose.”

            Katara bit back on her tears, why, she didn’t know, it wasn’t like she was wearing any makeup. “And if I’m starting to think that I like the idea of being a Princess?”

            “Then just promise me that, when the Avatar falls, if war does, indeed, come, you won’t do anything that I would’ve done at your age.”

            “I…I can’t make that promise, Mom.”

            Kya sighed and kissed her daughter softly on both cheeks. “I know, but I’m your mother; I have to try. Now, come on, if we don’t go out and let your father take a good look at you, he’s going to wear a furrow in the floor with his pacing.”

-$-$-$-$-$-

            Zuko’s uncle wasn’t alone when he finally reached the Fire Lord’s study. Uniformed aides and senior servants bustled in and out, while officers stood in small clumps scattered up and down the hall, puffing on pipes and cigars and cigarettes, talking in sharp, hushed voices. Zuko was instantly on edge, thinking back to the stories in the paper that morning, the stunning news of the turn in the Avatar’s health and the bloody battle at Gaoling. He remembered the sinking feeling in his stomach, the look on his fellow officers’ faces as they passed the paper around, the way the Colonel had commented by declining to comment and ordering the regiment to form up and prepare to march.

            Even as his heart sank, though, he didn’t start to truly worry until he saw his second eldest cousin, the Prince Naruhito, step out of his uncle’s study, head bowed in deep conversation with the Prince Qizhen, eldest son of the Crown Prince of Omashu. Zuko took a deep breath, let it out, then marched up to the two princes, snapped to attention, and bowed deep at the waist, since the two men were not just Royal Princes, but also high ranking officers in their respective armies.

            The princes halted their conversation and returned Zuko’s bow, with Naruhito saying, in the Guangzhou spoken in Omashu, “Why, hello there, little cousin! Shouldn’t you be on your way to meet your lovely lady?”

            Prince Qizhen popped an eyebrow, looking for all the world like he hadn’t just been discussing matters of life and death. “And what young lady is this?” He gave Naruhito a light-hearted tap to the arm. “You didn’t tell me that your cousin had gone a-courting.”

            “Well,” Naruhito said, fishing two cigars from the pocket of his dress uniform jacket and handing one to his fellow prince, “to be fair, nothing’s been confirmed yet; it’s still early days, I’m afraid.”

            “That’s just too bad!” Prince Qizhen said, eyes going wide in an unconscious imitation of his grandfather, the famous ( _or infamous, depending on how much time one had to spend with him_ ) King Bumi. “Strike while the iron’s hot, that’s what Grandfather always says, oh, thank you, Naru,” this last as Naruhito lit Qizhen’s cigar with a snap of his fingers, “much obliged, but I mean it, young man, fortune favors the bold. Who’s the lucky lady?”

            Zuko was deeply uncomfortable with such a topic of conversation, and his deep blush wasn’t helped by the fact that he knew his cousin was trying to distract him. “The Lady Katara, daughter of Chief Hakoda of the Yuupik Tribe, but that’s neither here nor there.” Without pausing, he rounded on his cousin, clicked his heels together hard enough that the _clack_ sounded remarkably like a gunshot, and bowed. “General Tokugawa, if it’s possible, _sir,_ is there any chance you can tell me what, exactly, has happened…?”

            Naruhito frowned as he puffed on his cigar, contemplating what to say. Of his three cousins, Zuko liked Naruhito the best. Akihito, the Crown Prince, was just a bit too _old,_ thirty-five just that past spring, and Yoshihito, though harmless and closest in age to Zuko, was only good for sitting in on social functions when the more industrious members of the family were too busy doing more important things, but Naruhito? Zuko felt like he understood Naruhito. Naruhito was a prince who didn’t much care for being a prince, would much rather just be a soldier, and that was something Zuko understood deep down to his bones.

            “You’re here to see Father, right?”

            Zuko bowed his head, because he felt that military courtesy was the best route to take in this situation. “Yes, sir; His Majesty sent for me.”

            Naruhito pointed towards the study with his lit cigar. “Head on in; it’s what they didn’t put in the papers this morning that he wants to talk to you about before the ball.”

            Zuko clicked his heels once more and bowed. “Thank you, sir, and…um…cousin…?”

            Naruhito popped an eyebrow, a sly grin pricking at the corners of his mouth. “Yes, Zuk?”

            “Um…if you see Katara before I do…well…um…please don’t tell her that I stood here and listened to that whole, _fortune favors the bold, strike while the iron is hot_ business…” A quick turn to Prince Qizhen and a bow. “No offense, Your Highness.”

            Qizhen threw back his head and laughed. “None taken, young man! Now get in there; royalty are not accustomed to waiting!”

            Zuko snapped off a final pair of bows, exchanged grins with his cousin, and proceeded to the doors of his uncle’s study, where a pair of Guards acknowledged him with quick nods before gesturing him inside.

            Once in the study, which, despite all the windows being open, was choked with tobacco smoke and fumes that indicated that an unholy amount of tea had been consumed over the past few hours, he tried to maintain his composure, he really did. After all, the room was brimming near capacity with officers and aides and even a few foreign notables, but none of that, alas, stopped his uncle from throwing his arms around Zuko, picking the young man up and swinging him around them room, and doing the best to squeeze every last drop of dignity from Zuko’s body.

            “Zuko, my boy! It’s so nice to see my favorite nephew!”

            Zuko had to struggle for enough breath to reply, but somehow, once his uncle had finally set him back on the ground, he managed. “Not to be pedantic, Uncle, but I’m your _only_ nephew.”

            Uncle, better known to many as _His Royal Majesty the Fire Lord Iroh,_ waved the equivocation away, sauntering ( _as much as his big belly would allow_ ) back to the table where he had left his pipe and his latest cup of tea. He puffed on the pipe and sipped at the tea, motioning Zuko over to his side with his eyes. “Come here, my boy,” he boomed, setting off a round of chuckles that filtered through the room, “step into the light and let these old eyes see you better. My _word,_ have you grown. How’re you feeling?”

            Zuko shrugged, tugging at his collar and hoping that he wasn’t sweating; the room, though big and airy, was over-crowded, and it was a bit too hot for comfort. “I’m…uh…nervous about tonight, of course, I’ve never escorted a lady to a ball before, unless you count the time Mother made me escort Noriko,” that being, Zuko’s youngest cousin and his uncle’s youngest child, who was Azula’s age, “to that big bash you threw the last time King Bumi came to visit.” Memories flashed through Zuko’s mind, memories of mortified embarrassment as King Bumi danced atop a table, mingled with his sister’s teasing, his uncle’s laughter, and…

            _And…_

_A drunken father’s rage, and then lightning, lightning and his mother’s screams and pain unlike Zuko had ever imagined could exist…_

He shook the memories away, both the good and the bad, and refocused on his uncle, who was looking at him through clouds of pipe smoke with eyes that were a bit to piercing for Zuko’s tastes that evening. Desperate for anything to change the subject, he swallowed hard, coughed into his hand, and gestured at the maps scattered over several big tables that had been pushed together in the middle of his uncle’s study. “I…um…excuse me, I take it this has something to do with what was in the papers this morning?”

            Uncle nodded, that knowing look still in his eyes, but whatever Uncle saw, he decided, for the moment, to keep it to himself. “You read them, I take it?”

            “The newsboys for _The Times_ made a killing running through the parade assembly ground this morning.”

            Uncle grunted, whether in acknowledgement or disapproval, Zuko wasn’t entirely sure; even after nearly twenty years of life, he had not quite mastered the art of translating his uncle’s grunts and grumbles and eyebrow wags. “I can imagine; still, there are some things that haven’t quite made it into the papers yet.”

            “That’s a change.”

            “It is…still…what do you know about Gaoling?”

            “That there’s a big earthbending tournament there every year, and that that General Kuvira woman won some stunning victory there two weeks ago, and now the armies of the _Committee of Public Safety_ are threatening our ally, the King of Omashu.”

            Uncle sighed, taking a moment to sip his tea, because he was Uncle. “That’s a good summary, but I’m afraid there’s more. The Bei Fong family that’s ruled in and around Gaoling for centuries was, naturally, deposed from their position by General Kuvira’s victory. Do you know anything about the Bei Fongs?”

            “That they’re fantastically rich?”

            Uncle grimaced. “Not anymore, Zuko. The Lady Bei Fong and her daughter barely escaped with their lives, and then only because their servants proved loyal and because the daughter is some kind of earthbending prodigy, managed send off a whole regiment of heavy cavalry all by herself. She’s blind, apparently, did you know that?”

Zuko frowned; his sister could handle his uncle’s frequent digressions with aplomb, but they always left Zuko feeling a bit in the dark. “The daughter? I’m…not sure what that has to do with anything, Uncle.”

            His uncle clucked his tongue. “It doesn’t, though it reminds me, once again, of how it always seems that, to those whom nothing is given, the most is received. Still…the Lady Bei Fong and her fascinating daughter have taken shelter at our embassy in Omashu, and if they’re willing, I’m going to bring them here to speak before a joint session of the Diet. Now, ask why the Lord Bei Fong isn’t coming.”

            “I take it he’s dead?”

            Uncle sighed and shook his head, suddenly looking so old and so sad that Zuko was struck speechless for a moment. “Beheaded by that horrid mechanical abomination that they’ve been using to behead people by the thousands in and around Ba Sing Se. It’s a reign of terror now, it seems. The armies of this Long Feng, gods curse him, are raising revolution wherever they go, turning the classes against each other, slaughtering anyone who dares to stand in their way, and sometimes slaughtering those who support them, too.”

            Zuko honestly didn’t know what to say. All he could do was mutter, “But…is there…is there anything we can do?”

            Uncle set down his tea cup and walked over to a window, puffing his pipe and motioning for Zuko to follow. “So far, the only affected areas are regions that are still nominally part of the Earth Kingdom; even if the Avatar, gods rest his soul, was well, and he’s very much not, there would be little he could do. And I’m afraid that Long Feng will not hesitate when the Avatar dies, unlike you late and unlamented great-grandfather did when Avatar Roku suddenly passed, all those years ago. I fear that this time, the world will be at war within a year of Avatar Aang’s death.”

            “That’s…I mean…I don’t know what to say, Uncle.”

            “I know…I don’t know what to say, either. I mean, just think of it: Ever since my father finally had the good decency to depart this mortal plane, I have done my best to repair the damage our forefathers did to our great nation. I expanded the Constitution, gave more power to the Diet, reduced taxes, improved welfare and education, finally buried our nation’s legacy of civil war and aggression, but will the history books remember that? Of course not. They’ll remember that I was Fire Lord when the Avatar fell, and that it was I who sent my people to war…” A long pause, as Uncle puffed away on his pipe, and Zuko’s fingers itched for the cigarettes he had let Azula pocket on her way out the door to his room. “But that, my dear nephew, is not why I asked to speak to you tonight.”

            “I…um…what, Uncle?”

            Uncle turned around, came to face-to-face with Zuko. He had to look up at his nephew, which meant that Zuko had to crane his neck down, but Zuko didn’t mind, never had. He loved his uncle, loved him as the father he’d always wished he could have had, which was why the look of pain and anguish on his uncle’s face struck Zuko to his very soul.

            “It’s about your father, Zuko.”

            _Of course it is. It **always** comes back to my father. When my mother suffers through those days when she can’t even get out of bed, when my sister wakes up screaming in the night, when my scar aches so bad I can’t sleep for days, it comes back to my father._

_Gods damn him to every Hell that men believe._

“I…what did he do this time, Uncle?”

            Uncle didn’t bother to mince his words. “Treason, Zuko. One of the men who helped the Bei Fongs escape was a defector, a former servant of theirs who was horrified at the destruction in Gaoling. He had worked in Kuvira’s headquarters, heard her talking…your father has been in communication with Long Feng, promising to raise some sort of rebellion, so long as Long Feng promises to make my fool of a brother Fire Lord. It’s ludicrous, I know, but it’s still high treason, and the Duke Shimazu,” that being, Uncle’s Prime Minister, “is now urging me to present a bill of attainder to the House of Peers.”

            Zuko didn’t need any explanation for _that._ He knew what a bill of attainder meant: It meant death. There was only one penalty for high treason, and that penalty was death by hanging, because beheading or _seppuku_ were considered too good for such a person.

            It meant his father would die.

            _Finally._

And then it clicked.

            “But…that means…that means that…”

            Uncle nodded, reached up and squeezed Zuko’s arm. “That means that, as soon as the Diet is in session again, the story will be in the papers.”

            “But…but Katara…” He couldn’t comprehend, couldn’t understand, couldn’t think. _If Katara knows…but I…but we…if she knows…if she knew who my father is…what he did…will she…oh gods…but how can I…how can…_

“I know, Zuko, I know, but remember: The reckoning delayed never shrinks, it only grows. I think you worry too much; she’s a wonderful girl, delightful, nevermind the politics, your happiness, yours and your mother’s and your sister’s, those are the things that matter most to me. This family owes a great debt to all of you, and I intend to see it repaid.”

            “I…” Zuko took a deep breath, a damp, ragged breath that shook and wavered in a throat hot and thick with emotion. “I…I know, Uncle, but…I don’t know…”

            Uncle smiled and let go of Zuko’s arm, picked the Order of Chrysanthemum off Zuko’s chest. “You know, the day I put this on you was one of the proudest days of my life. I felt like I was decorating my own sons all over again.” He gave the medal a tug, let it fall back on Zuko’s chest. “You’re a good boy, Zuko, and smarter than you give yourself credit for. I want you to think about what I’ve told you, but not tonight. Tonight, I want you to dance the night away with your beautiful young lady; I only told you in case it leaks to the papers before the Diet comes back next month. Just…go out there, dance your heart out, and in the morning, we’ll talk again, okay?”

            Zuko nodded, and when he brushed tears from his eyes, he felt no shame. “Alright, Uncle.”

            “Good. Now, give your crazy old man of an uncle a hug and get going. After all, what do I keep telling you?”

            “It’s…it’s never wise to keep young ladies waiting.”

            “And don’t you forget it.”

-$-$-$-$-$-

            Katara couldn’t keep still. Her dress was immaculate and her hair was perfect and her family was busy preparing themselves for the ball and she had even received a thick-voiced blessing from her father, but she couldn’t keep still. All she had to do was perch on a stool and wait for the doorman to stick his head in to announce Zuko’s arrival, at which point she would spring to her feet and the stool would be disposed of and she would get to pretend that she had been standing, prim and ready, the whole time, but even that was beyond her. First she found herself nibbling her nails, and then she was nibbling her lip, and when she yanked her hands away from her hair for the fifth time, she gave up on the waiting and jumped to her feet and started pacing around the room. Yumiko-san, to her credit, didn’t even bat an eye, just stood her post by the aforementioned stool, wearing a look that screamed, _I’ve seen this all before,_ and occasionally asking Katara if _my lady would like some refreshment, perhaps a glass of wine or a cigarette or something to nibble on…?_

The idea of a cigarette made her stomach turn and the thought of food did the same, and she suspected that if she had one glass of wine right then, she’d have five, so she declined it all and continued her aimless pacing. If only she could think, she felt sure, she would be able to stop her pacing and calm down, but she couldn’t. Her thoughts were a confused jumble of conflicting emotions that made her head ache, so confusing her that there were moments when she could barely remember her own name.

            A soft cough jerked her out of what passed for _her thoughts._ Startled, she rounded on a corner, only to discover a young servant lurking in a shadow who looked just as surprised as she felt.

            For a moment, she almost screamed. She _desperately_ needed to be alone, at most she just needed Yumiko-san, _I don’t know why I need her here but I do,_ but _being alone_ was impossible in a Palace. Yumiko-san, after all, was a lady’s maid, and though lady’s maids were more than happy to brush out hair and help pick out dresses and offer advice, such menial tasks as _pouring wine_ or _fetching food_ were beneath them, there were other servants for that, and thus Katara couldn’t quite remember the last time she had been anywhere without at least a half-dozen servants within easy shouting distance. _Gods, I can’t even go to the **bathroom** without a servant or two standing outside the door, on the off chance I need something, though what they could **possibly** help me with is beyond-_

“Would my lady like me to clear the room?”

            Katara whipped back around, to find Yumiko-san still at her post, hands clasped at her waist, looking just as calm and serene as ever. “Um…come again?”

            Yumiko-san bowed her head. “You seem troubled, my lady. Would you like me to clear the room for a moment?”

            Katara almost burst out laughing, as much from her nerves and her strain as from anything else. _How **does** she do that? _“Yumiko-san, do you read minds?”

            Yumiko-san just smiled. “A servant’s secrets are her own, my lady.”

            “Of course. As for the room…yes, Yumiko-san, I would appreciate it if you could send the others away.”

            Yumiko-san bowed. “At once, my lady.” After that, all it took was a snap of Yumiko-san’s fingers and a muttered command, and Katara and her lady’s maid were all alone.

            _That’s better._ Katara didn’t know if it was the solitude, or the pause that Yumiko-san had so artfully provided, but her thoughts seemed easier to follow now, calmer, less jumbled. Her pacing slowed, the ringing in her ears began to recede, the pounding in her head faded. She turned away once more, walked over to a vase in a corner of the room, her skirts rustling as she moved. She stopped at the vase, reached out, gently laid her fingers on the cool glass. She closed her eyes, counted to ten, then counted again, until her mind began to clear and she could feel her element swirling in the vase. She took a deep breath, let it out, stretched her consciousness down into the water, felt the droplets of condensation beading their way down the inside of the vase, felt the water pulsing through the flowers like blood through a vein. For a moment, she was struck by the impulse to bend the water from the vase and send it swirling around the room, to make it twist in and out of intricate patterns as if she was a performer in one of the little troupes that traveled from village-to-village back home, doing tricks for their daily bread. _That would be so much simpler, wouldn’t it? I wouldn’t have to worry about looming wars or dying Avatars or alliances sealed by marriage. I could just be free..._

_But then, I wouldn’t have met, Zuko, and I wouldn’t be me…_

That’s when she knew what she had to do.

            She tore her hand from the vase, turned back to Yumiko-san. She drew herself up tall and proud, shoulders back, head held high. “Tell me, Yumiko-san, if I marry the Prince Zuko, will I still be known as the Lady Katara?”

            Yumiko-san furrowed her brow, and Katara locked away the image of her lady’s maid looking a bit lost. “No, my lady; you would become the _Princess_ Katara and be addressed as _Your Royal Highness._ ”

            “I see…so why is the Lady Ursa no longer known as a Princess?”

            Katara saw the ripple of despair that passed through Yumiko-san’s face, but she pushed it from her mind, pressed on. _I have to know. I have to know, and I can’t bring myself to see that face, that pain, in Zuko if I ask._ “Because the Lady Ursa is divorced, my lady.”

            Katara was expecting a lot of things, but for some reason, she wasn’t expecting that. She saw the Lady Ursa in her mind’s eye, the perfect noblewoman, always poised and prepared and tall and dignified, a daughter of the Ashikaga Clan, the oldest and proudest clan in the Fire Nation. She tried to picture the Lady Ursa, descended from Avatar Roku himself, enduring the humiliation of a divorce, something the nobility of the Fire Nation considered akin to rolling in a dung heap, _only less dignified,_ and couldn’t quite square it.

            She tried to imagine what could have pushed the Lady Ursa into such a course, and failed. “I thought,” she said, picking her words carefully, “that the nobility could only be divorced by an act passed in the House of Peers.”

            Yumiko-san blinked, but she didn’t waver. “That is true. The act was introduced by His Majesty Himself, and it was passed unanimously, the only time either has ever happened.”

            Katara swallowed. _Hard._ “Why, Yumiko-san?”

            “Because of who her husband was, my lady.”

            “Tell me, Yumiko-san.”

            Yumiko-san bowed her head. “Of course, my lady.”

            And Yumiko-san told her. Katara listened, silent, spellbound, to the story of a marriage arranged, of the spare prince already infamous in the Palace for his drunken rages and his cruelty, a spare prince despised by his older brother and treasured by his embittered father, and, of course, of a young daughter of the most noble lineage, who bravely came to Miyako to do her duty to her Clan and her Nation. The marriage produced two children, a boy and a girl, but other than that, it was a miserable failure. The prince was embittered, frustrated, consumed by ambitions he had neither the opportunity nor the skill to fulfill. The prince turned to opium and drink, took his rage out on servants and, when the servants fled, his own family. He abused his wife mercilessly and beat his son, then he beat his son again when his son, again and again, tried to stop him from beating on his daughter. The Fire Lord did nothing to stop him, because the Fire Lord was, himself, a miserable, embittered man, a classic bully, and it pleased him to have at least one son to follow in his footsteps.

            But one day, the old Fire Lord died, and the Crown Prince Iroh became the Fire Lord Iroh. The new Fire Lord called his brother Ozai before the throne, and made clear that Ozai’s reign of terror was at an end, so that, for a time, all seemed well. The spare prince continued to wallow in his misery, but he kept his abuses and his rages quiet, and avoided his wife and his children when he could.

            The narrative paused, as Yumiko-san stopped to wipe tears from her eyes, because she had grown up in the Palace and seen it all with her own two eyes. Katara’s own eyes were burning with tears, but she blinked them back and waited.

            “Then,” Yumiko-san began again, her voice thick and shattered, “His Majesty’s fifty-fifth birthday came.”

            Iroh had been Fire Lord for five years, and for five years, his younger brother had been forbidden from entering the Royal Box at the military review. That year, though, the Fire Lord gave in to his merciful and forgiving nature and allowed his brother back into the box to sit with his family. No doubt the Fire Lord believed that even his brother would not dare to step out of line in so public a place.

            The Fire Lord was wrong. When Ozai saw his wife and his children filing into the box, something inside him snapped. Some say he was drunk, some say he was stoned, others say that he was both, but Yumiko-san believed he was just insane. Ozai snarled like a demon, drew a dagger, and leaped at his children. When his wife tried to stop him, he slashed her throat, would have killed her if the Princess Azula had not thrown him back with a blast of flame. The mad prince’s clothes were burned and his skin and hair were singed, and the Guards, stunned, were converging on him, but he didn’t seem to notice. He bellowed with rage and hurled lightning at his daughter, who had turned her back on her father so she could take her mother in her arms.

            The lightning would’ve killed them both if a thirteen-year-old Zuko hadn’t leapt before it and used the rudimentary lightning redirection his cousins had taught him.

            “But…” Katara stopped, looked away, blinked the tears from her eyes. “But…that technique…I’ve heard only the most advanced firebenders can perform it correctly…how…how did he survive?”

            Yumiko-san shook her head, tears freely rolling down her cheeks. “He didn’t. His Highness was dead for a full minute. If the wife of the Northern Water Tribe ambassador hadn’t been such a skilled healer, hadn’t been in the Royal Box that day, we would’ve lost him and the Lady Ursa, both.”

            All Katara could do was gasp. Yumiko-san stopped talking, but there wasn’t anything more to be said; the rest Katara had learned for herself. The man named Ozai was stripped of his titles and position and banished to one of the more remote Sunset Islands, the very mention of his name forbidden wherever the Fire Lord might chance to hear it, leaving Ozai’s son to rub his chest when he was nervous or stressed or worried and his wife to wear dresses with high necks and long sleeves and his daughter to spit in rage at the slightest suggestion of his continued existence.

            “You were there, weren’t you?” Katara whispered into the silence.

            Yumiko-san nodded, even as she desperately tried to wipe the tears from her eyes. “I was…I was the Princess Azula’s nanny then. I still see it in my dreams, the blood and the terror…oh, gods, the Guards were enraged, they would’ve beaten that horrid man to death right there if His Majesty hadn’t stopped them…”

            “Why…why did the Fire Lord do that?”

            “Because…because he didn’t feel that his brother deserved to die.”

            Katara never did find out what she would’ve said to that, what she would’ve done. She was about to open her mouth, but there came a soft knock on the door and she knew, deep down in her soul, that Zuko was here.

            She didn’t hesitate. She shot out the door before the doorman even had time to fully open it.

-$-$-$-$-$-

            It took Katara at least a minute to reach Zuko. In that time, she lived through her worst nightmare at least a dozen times.

            The nightmare had haunted her since she was six years old. It had come from nowhere, and it visited her at least three or four times a year. In the nightmare, she was living in a world at war, how she knew that, she wasn’t sure, but it was a fact of the nightmare and nightmares did not care to be questioned. It was snowing, but it was snowing black, and the world was full of fire and screams, men fighting and shouting in the darkness. There were ravens everywhere, hideous ravens black as the deepest and darkest level of Hell, ravens that killed anyone in their path and that breathed fire and flame. In the nightmare, Katara ran as fast as her six-year-old legs could take her, ran in a shower of snow so black it almost looked like blood. She was looking for her mother, though deep down, she knew that she would never make it in time, she never did, she always ran for her mother but she never made it, she would turn a final corner and then a woman would scream and Katara would shoot up in her bed, sobbing hysterically, and it would be _days_ before she would be able to sleep through the night again.

            The dream had all the horrid immediacy of a memory, and somehow, Katara knew it was just that. _All of this has happened before,_ the Air Nomads were fond of saying, _and all of this will happen again._ Avatars would rise and fall and humans would do good and evil and mothers would be lost and found and lost again, but Katara couldn’t control any of that, all she could do was live _this life_ and choose, not just her destiny, but who she would share that destiny with.

            In the end, it felt easy. Somehow, it always did, though what that meant, she didn’t know, what she knew was that Zuko was in front of her, looking splendid in his dress uniform, and he saw her face, saw her rushing towards him, held her tight as she flung herself into his arms.

            “Katara, I…I have something I need to tell you-“

            She looked up, laid a finger on his lips. She was vaguely aware of servants scurrying away, could almost hear Yumiko-san back in the room, delaying her family, but she didn’t really care. “I know.”

            Zuko’s eyes went wide. “You do? You know about…”

            “Yes,” she said, and smiled, “I know, and I don’t care. You’ve been punished enough for the crimes of your father, and I’ll be _damned_ if I make you suffer again.”

            “I…I don’t know what to say…”

            “Then shut up.”

            And then she kissed him. It was a first kiss for both of them, something that a strange little voice in the back of her dreams told her had never happened before, but she didn’t understand the voice and she ignored it and just kissed him.

            That night, they were the first on the dance floor and the last off it, and by morning, a city sick of rumors of failing Avatars and imminent war was devoting itself to the latest gossip out of the Palace instead.


	5. Lilac

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sure, they weren't at each other's side, and everyone was taking turns making fun of them, but they didn't care, because they were having a really good day.
> 
> This is Zutara Week stuff, so, you know, adult language and themes lurking ahead. Woo!

**Lilac**

A HOT SUMMER BREEZE BLEW, SENDING WAVES RIPPLING ACROSS ROLLING HILLS COVERED WITH THE SOFT PURPLE OF LILAC AND THE BRIGHT ORANGE-RED OF FIRE BLOSSOMS, WHILE AT THE TOP OF A LOW RIDGE, THE CAVALRY PREPARED TO CHARGE.

            There were six-hundred of them, packed stirrup-to-stirrup along the ridge. They were Lancers, their uniforms scarlet-and-black trimmed with gold, dragon-moose plumes of black-and-red fluttering from the tops of their helmets. The cavalrymen adjusted themselves in their saddles, their komodo-rhinos pawing at the ground, snorting and growling and snapping at the air as lilac flowers drifted off with the breeze. They held their lances straight-up in the air, six-hundred three-meter-long spears of banded oak painted black-and-red, each one flying a blood-red pennant from just underneath half-meter-long spear-points of wickedly sharp steel. They didn’t laugh, they didn’t smile; they kept their eyes on their officers and on their standard, waiting for the trumpets to sound the charge and fling them down the ridge.

            Below them, a full kilometer away, a thousand infantrymen were arrayed in two straight lines across a bowl in the ground, surrounded by hills and ridges. The regimental and royal colors snapped in the breeze from the center of the line, but the soldiers themselves stood stock still, the butts of their muskets planted on the ground, faces blank with waiting, the only movement the pacing officers, long curved _katanas_ drawn and flashing in the sun, along with the occasional rustle as soldiers tugged at the collars of their scarlet-and-black uniforms.

            Then, finally, something happened. At the front of the regiment of Lancers, their Colonel consulted a pocket watch, nodded to himself, snapped it closed, and stuffed it in his pocket. He drew his _katana_ and turned to his officers. “Sound the advance!” He raise his _katana_ and slashed it down, the trumpet sounded and six-hundred bridles and curb chains and saddles and stirrups rattled and jangled and clanged and the Lancers began their advance.

            The infantry didn’t so much as blink. Their own Colonel, mounted on a rather frisky komodo-rhino of his own, shaded his eyes as he watched the Lancers begin trotting down the ridge. He seemed to smile, then he muttered something and the call went up, passed from officer to officer.

            _“Fix bayonets!”_

A thousand pinpoints of light flicked up and down the lines as soldiers drew forth their bayonets and slotted them onto their muskets. The Lancers saw it and seemed to take it as a signal, as their Colonel raised his _katana_ high and bellowed, “ _At the double!”_ The trumpet sounded once more and officers passed the order and the lances were lowered to a forty-five-degree angle to the ground and the Lancers sprung into a fast canter.

            Once more, the infantry seemed not to notice; some even yawned as the Lancers approached. Their Colonel threw back his head, laughed, muttered once more, and the officers bellowed.

_“Form square!”_

The reaction was immediate and polished. A full-strength Fire Nation regiment is made up of ten companies, a light company, a grenadier company, and eight line companies. The light and grenadier companies, every man a firebender, fell in behind the center two companies of the line as a reserve, while the rest of the regiment pivoted in place, marching backwards until they formed a tight square, each face made of two companies drawn into four ranks. The front ranks dropped to their knees and planted the stocks of their muskets into the grass, so that by the time the Lancers screamed _banzai_ and broke into the charge, there was nothing for them on the plain but a solid mass bristling with bayonets and musket barrels that – if this were a real battle – would be backed by furiously working firebenders.

            _But this isn’t the real thing, is it?_ Katara smirked at the thought, straightening her back as she stepped away from one of the telescopes that had been so helpfully mounted on tripods for those lords and ladies who wished for a closer look at what His Majesty the Fire Lord’s Army could do, but didn’t want to spend the day galloping in the hot summer sun about a few kilometers to the west, where the _real_ maneuvers were taking place.

            It was from there that cannon rumbled and muskets rattled and low horrid growls spoke of fireballs sucking the oxygen from the air. The cannon and the muskets would be packed with powder but no shot, and any firebending would be performed at quarter strength, but accidents could – and _had_ – happened. The thought flashed through Katara’s mind like lightning, and before she knew what she was doing, she was compulsively gripping her necklace, her free hand shading her eyes as she looked towards the west.

            _That’s where I want to be,_ she growled silently, working at her necklace. _That’s where I **should** be. _The necklace was new, a bright blue sapphire hanging from a silver chain. Three days she had had the necklace, and already it felt like a part of her. Three days since Zuko had given it to her, and she rarely took it off.

            “You gaze longingly towards the west one more time, Katara, and I’m going to start feeling bad.”

            Katara sighed and turned towards her sister-in-law, who stood just to her right, shaded by a parasol held by one of the lady’s maids Yue had brought with her from the North. “It’s not _your_ fault I’m not watching the real maneuvers today, Yue; blame our mothers.” Which, Katara admitted, though _slightly_ unfair, was also the truth. For the first two days of the maneuvers, Katara had ridden an ostrich-horse from one end of the field to the other, competing with Azula and Ty Lee in finding new ways to confound their escort as they tried to keep pace with the movements of Zuko’s regiment. Today, though, Yue had wanted to go watch what were called the _small maneuvers,_ little side-shows put on far away from the main action for the benefit of the lords and ladies of Miyako. Katara and Yue’s mothers were going to go with her, but at the last minute Her Majesty the Fire Lady and the Lady Ursa had invited them to lunch, and thus Katara stood on a hill, trying not to look too petulant.

            Yue giggled as she held out a folded-up parasol to Katara. “Well, if I can’t keep you from looking quite so forlorn, the least you can do is try not to die of heatstroke.”

            Katara managed to stop herself from rolling her eyes as she took the parasol. She didn’t get why everyone kept forcing the things on her. _I mean, I get why the ladies of the Fire Nation use them, they want to keep their skin pasty white, but it’s not like I can get much darker, so why bother?_ She had long since given up trying to argue the matter, so she unfurled the parasol and set it back on her shoulder. “I ever tell you that I already have a mother, Yue?”

            Yue laughed and smiled as only she could. “You have, though I don’t know what you could _possibly_ mean.” To that, Katara responded by sticking her tongue out at her sister-in-law, a gesture that Yue returned with full force. “So,” Yue resumed as their giggles subsided and they start strolling down one hill and towards another, “what was it that I just watched?”

            Katara popped an eyebrow. “Surely my brother’s filled your ear with all the relevant details?” She managed to say _brother_ without irritation; Sokka was serving as a captain in one of the Northern regiments that had come to take part in the maneuvers, and he had shown no qualms about rubbing that fact in Katara’s face at breakfast that morning. _Not that I won’t get him back eventually._

“Katara, dear, I love my husband, but have you ever tried to get him to explain anything in a clear and straightforward manner?”

            Katara rolled her eyes. “Good point. _Basically,_ the way Zuko explained it to me, the role of cavalry on the battlefield is threefold: Ride down already broken units, turn an enemy’s flank, and keep the other side’s cavalry from doing the same. The best way for infantry to respond to that is to form a square, so that they can’t be outflanked.”

            Yue looked off towards the regiments that had just performed, which were setting themselves up for another little show as the lords and ladies applauded. “And I suppose animals won’t charge into guns and bayonets?”

            “That, and there’s fire, too; the job of the grenadier and light companies are to serve as a reserve and use firebending, both to break the enemy charge and try to counter enemy bending.”

            Yue giggled. “Make sense…and yet, your brother, Tui and La bless his precious heart, took about five hours to only half-explain the same thing.”

            “Yeah,” Katara groaned, “that sounds like my brother. You know, I remember this one time, I must’ve been about ten-years-old, and I asked him-“

            “Good afternoon, Your Highness, my lady, and a lovely afternoon it is!”

            Both women stopped in their tracks and turned, to find themselves faced with a young man in his late-twenties-or-so, riding a frisky buffalo-yak and decked out in flamboyant suit and brightly-colored top-hat. Yue seemed charmed, though Katara had to resist the urge to roll her eyes as she bowed. “Your Highness,” they both chorused, which caused the young man to throw back his head and laugh.

            “Oh, such formality!” The Prince Yoshihito, youngest son of the Fire Lord Iroh, shook his head and flashed a rueful grin as he snatched his top-hat from his head and dabbed at his scalp with a silk handkerchief. “It’s _far_ too hot for such formalities, wouldn’t you say?”

            Yue giggled, and this time, Katara did roll her eyes ( _though the etiquette lessons of Yumiko-san, who had the day off, came in handy, as Katara covered her action with a soft “cough” into her hand_ ). “If you say so, my lord,” Yue replied, as she turned to wave a hand at the ongoing performance. “And might I say, a lovely show you’ve put on today.”

            Prince Yoshihito struck a preening pose. “I try my best. The gods blessed me with a great deal of skill at pointless things, and this just so happens to be one of them. My brother Naruhito may be one of the best soldiers in a generation, but he hasn’t got anything on my ability to keep bored lords and ladies entertained!”

            Katara had to give the Prince that. The primary fact of Yoshihito’s personality was his harmlessness; he was good at all the cosmetic details of royalty and very little else, and he knew and accepted it. That was his primary function in the Royal Family; manage balls, throw receptions, and do the entertaining when everyone else was too busy running the country. This allowed Yoshihito to drink, be merry, make friends, and have as little real responsibility as possible, which seemed to suit him just fine.

            Though Katara wouldn’t be Katara if she hadn’t felt the urge to make a comment about it. “What, my lord,” she said, fiddling with her necklace, whose origins everyone knew, “no desire to ride over the hills and lead one of His Majesty’s regiments into glorious fake battle?”

            Yoshihito was in the middle of lighting a cigar with a snap of his fingers, which was why he almost choked on smoke as he burst into laughter. “Oh, _gods forbid,”_ he said, once he could breathe again, “I’d probably get the poor bastards lost. I’d be halfway to Kagoshima,” which was on the other side of the Fire Nation from Miyako, “before I even knew what had happened!”

            “Surely you’re not _that bad_ of a soldier, my lord?” Yue offered, polite and optimistic as ever.

            “Azula told me that her cousin Yoshihito was the worst soldier in the Fire Nation,” was Katara’s comment, which only sent Yoshihito into more hysterics.

            “Well, she’s wrong! I’m easily the worst soldier in the _world!_ ” Yoshihito bellowed, patting his amble stomach. “There are blind cripples who could beat the stuffing out of me!” He paused, chuckling as he drew on his cigar with one hand and struggled with the buffalo-yak ( _though why he should be riding a buffalo-yak, Katara didn’t know, and wasn’t sure she wanted to_ ). “You know,” he said, in an amused tone of voice, “I had a dream that I was the heir to throne once.”

            “And how did you do?” Katara asked.

            Yoshihito laughed. “I was _awful._ I had actual responsibilities and no brothers to pawn them off on, so I was miserable and made everyone else miserable.”

            Yue’s eyes went wide with disbelief. “And this was a _dream?”_

Yoshihito put his hat back on his head, tilting it at a jaunty angle. “I never said it was a _good_ dream, Princess!” He paused, taking out an ornate pocket watch and gazing off at his little performance. “Well, bugger me sideways,” a comment that got an embarrassed giggle out of Yue, “but it’s almost time for me to give those two regiments back to my brother.”

            “Does that mean the show’s over, my lord?” Yue asked, sounding as disappointed as Katara felt relieved.

            Yoshihito’s eyes went wide. “Perish the thought! I’m going to come back with a very _special_ regiment, my dears, and they’re going to let any lord or lady who wishes to go down and learn how to fire a musket. How does that sound?”

            Yue squealed and thought it sounded _fabulous,_ while Katara shrugged and said, “Well, my lord, I suppose it depends on which regiment.”

            Yoshihito winked as he tapped a finger to his nose. “Why, the Ninety-Fourth, of course. I imagine that my young cousin will be _delighted_ by the news, wouldn’t you say?”

            Katara couldn’t respond at first; she was trying to imagine what it would be like, for Zuko to wrap his arms around her as he showed her how to load and fire a musket ( _though why that would require him to wrap his arms around her, even her imagination wasn’t sure_ ), and then her mind went a little fuzzy as her ears began to burn hot as coals fresh from a fire. Somewhere, she was pretty sure she could hear Yue and Yoshihito laughing fit to burst, but she was a bit too busy trying to regain her composure to notice.

            “You know,” Yoshihito said, as he waved towards the distant regiments, trying to get the attention of the two Colonels, “I can’t believe I didn’t notice this before, but…is that a blue lilac tucked behind your ear, Lady Katara?”

            Katara latched on to the question like a drowning man clinging to a rope, tilting back her parasol and touching the bright blue lilac flower so that anyone who cared to could get a closer look. “It is, actually! Zuko found it in the garden and gave it to me yesterday evening at dinner. He…he…um…” The blush was coming back, and the knowing grins on the faces of Yue and Yoshihito were _not_ helping. “Well…um…he wore it during yesterday’s maneuvers, told me that it had brought him luck…so…you know…he gave it to me…”

            Yue giggled, while Yoshihito blew out a thick stream of cigar smoke and chuckled. “I can imagine. You know, blue lilacs are very rare here in the Fire Nation; I’d keep a close eye on that, if I were you.”

            Katara gave up on the fight against her blush and decided to throw back her head and make the best of it. “I intend to, my lord.”

            Yoshihito laughed, then gave his mount a kick of his spurs as the two distant Colonels began to ride towards him. “Well, I’m afraid that what passes for duty in my life calls.” He turned in his saddle, pointed towards another hill. “Lunch will be served right over there in about ten minutes, so I’d head over if I were you.”

            Yue and Katara bowed and thanked him. “Good day to you, my lord,” they chorused, while he rolled his eyes and started to gallop away.

            Until he stopped. He pulled hard on the reins and started making his buffalo-yak turn in circles.

            “That reminds me! When you head over to the picnic ground, Lady Katara, you’ll find a young man just arrived from the Palace. I can’t imagine what it’s about, but he’s from my mother and the impression he gave me is that you won’t be going back South at the end of the summer, in which case, I expect you and my cousin at my birthday bash, and I don’t care what excuses he tries to come up with this time!” With that done, Yoshihito threw back his head, brayed with laughter, and galloped off before Katara could even think of a reply.

            Which was good, because she was already rushing off towards the picnic ground, smiling from ear-to-ear. Yue came running up to her side, stepping fast to keep up as she asked, “Katara, did you…well… _did you…”_

“If you’re asking if I made up my mind about my proposed marriage,” Katara said, giving up on trying to keep her parasol upright and just closing it and tucking it under an arm, “as well as asking if that decision is why our mothers couldn’t come with you today, then the answer is you’ll just have to wait and see.”

            “So,” Yue said, huffing and puffing, “in other words, we’ll be of equal rank soon?”

            How Katara managed to keep from jumping up in the air and squealing with glee, she would never know, _especially_ when she saw the smile on the face of the young messenger from the Palace.

-$-$-$-$-$-

            “You look happy.”

            Zuko looked up, to find his sister and Ty Lee leaning on the front pommels of their saddles, their ostrich-horses pawing at the ground as Azula puffed on a cigarette and Ty Lee whistled at passing soldiers, winking at the ones who blushed and giggling at the ones who whistled back.

            “I _am_ happy,” Zuko said, and the funny thing, as he loosened his uniform’s collar and pulled out his locket, was he was telling the truth. He was exhausted and gasping for breath, covered from head-to-toe in a thick film of dirt and sweat and soot. The air was thick with swirling clouds of smoke, and scattered fires burned in grass dried and shriveled by marching feet, blasting muskets, and great gouts of fire. He slammed his _katana_ into its scabbard, snatched his shako off his head, and waved it around to indicate the field. “How could I not be happy? We took the hill, captured the flag, took minimal losses, and my regiment has made it through three days of maneuvers without a single serious injury. It’s a wonderful day!”

            Ty Lee was too busy making eyes at a particularly dashing young staff officer who happened to be riding by, so it was up to Azula ( _after rolling her eyes at her friend_ ) to reply. “Even though _the Lady Katara_ isn’t here to cheer you on?”

            Zuko flashed the locket through the air. “She’s here in spirit, so it’s alright.”

            Azula groaned, while Ty Lee, somehow sensing potential _cuteness,_ locked eyes on the locket and squealed. _“Oh. My. **Gods.** Is that the locket I saw Katara with the other day? Is it, is it, **IS IT?!?!**_ ”

            “No,” Azula drawled, “it’s the locket I stole from that prostitute I murdered yesterday.”

            Ty Lee frowned. “You murdered a prostitute yesterday?”

            Azula let loose another groan as she took a final puff from her cigarette and tossed it aside, while Zuko snapped open his locket and smiled. It was a beautiful piece of craftsmanship, made from gold with Katara’s name in Inuktitut letters carved on the front, while inside the locket was a miniature portrait of Katara and a lock of her hair, carefully secured so that it could neither fall out nor blow away. Zuko rubbed the portrait, before snapping the locket closed and tucking it back under his shirt. “What was that, Zula?”

            Azula gestured towards somewhere behind Zuko, smiling from ear-to-ear. “Oh, I was just commenting on how Toru and Ryu are making kiss-kiss noises and funny faces behind your back.”

            Zuko turned around so fast he almost lost his balance, and he was just in time to watch two of his fellow officers, Watanabe Toru and Mishima Ryu, collapsing into hysterical laughter even as they cursed Azula for selling them out.

            Zuko would’ve been furious, if he hadn’t been in such a good mood.


	6. Fever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the end, she was proud of herself; she actually let him say her name before she said yes.
> 
> Once more, this being Zutara Week, feel the need to say that there are adult themes and adult language lurking about, though not so much in today's entry (it helps when Toph and Azula aren't around).

**Fever**

 

WHEN THE PARTY FINALLY CAME, IT WAS LIKE THE BREAKING OF A LONG-SIMMERING FEVER. Three months had passed since the Fire Lord’s birthday, returning Miyako to its usual business of serving as the beating heart of a nation as the horde of dignitaries and crowned heads and lords and ladies and princes and princesses returned to their homes and to their duties and to the preparations for the coming war. That war was coming, no one doubted any longer. When the Diet went back into session, a bill of attainder was presented in the House of Peers, so that by nightfall, the former prince Ozai was found guilty of high treason, and effigies of him and the now infamous Long Feng from Ba Sing Se were being burned in bonfires across the Fire Nation. In response, the Earth Kingdom broke off relations with the Fire Nation, and Earth Kingdom armies started to mass on the borders of the Kingdoms of Goryeo and Omashu. Only the miraculous recovery of the Avatar from his most recent illness prevented violence from erupting. For weeks, as the heat of summer began to fade and the cold winds of the coming winter began to blow out of the North and South, he flew in a great circle between all the capitals of the world, each day seeming to grow weaker and weaker, until he could not even walk without the support of his grandsons, the great airbenders Lobsang and Tenzin. Finally, the leaders of the world blinked. The armies marched back to their barracks, the fleets returned to their harbors, and the world breathed a collective sigh of relief as the storm-clouds of disaster flowed back to the distant horizon.

            How long the respite would last, no one could know. The armies of Ba Sing Se continued to grow, Long Feng continued to promise that his revolution would spread to all four corners of the world, the Kings of Omashu and Goryeo remained defiant, and the Avatar returned to the Southern Air Temple, where his health began to fail once more.

            So, it should come as no surprise that, as an unseasonable early autumn chill descended on Miyako, the city pushed from its collective mind the clouds of war, decided to forget all about the former prince who was now languishing in a cell, and happily turned its attention to the social event of the year:

            The birthday bash of His Royal Highness the Prince Yoshihito.

-$-$-$-$-$-

            “I thought I might find you out here.”

            Zuko had been standing out on the balcony of his cousin’s mansion, smoking a cigarette and loosening his collar. The mansion stood in the foothills to the west of the city, and he had found himself entranced by the sight of Miyako at night. The city stretched out before him, a vast sea of flickering lights cascading down into the harbor. Above it all, the Palace loomed, dark and strangely foreboding, even though it was lit up like the sea at sunset. He had soon found himself lost in his thoughts, lulled into relaxation by the sounds and smells of the city and the boom of the music through the open windows of the mansion.

            So lost was he, in fact, that when he heard Katara’s voice, he just about jumped out of his skin, yelping in a manner remarkably similar to that of a little girl who had just found a pentapus on her foot during a leisurely walk on the beach.

            Katara giggled as she came to him in a swish and swirl of skirts, pulling him down for a soft, chaste kiss before stepping back to lean against the edge of the balcony and tug her shawl tighter across her shoulders. “You looked so adorable gazing off into the distance, I almost didn’t say anything. I hope I didn’t interrupt something profound or important?”

            Zuko laughed, taking a last puff from his cigarette before tossing it off the balcony and reaching down to take one of Katara’s hands. “Nah, just trying to clear my head.” He jerked said head back towards the party, which seemed to respond with a crash of instruments and the roar of a hundred voices raised in sudden laughter. “It was getting a bit too… _crowded_ in there, for my tastes.”

            Katara nodded, entwining her fingers with Zuko’s and nibbling on her lip. “Yeah, I know what you mean…though at least Nerri is having fun.”

            Zuko rolled his eyes. “I’ll give her that. What was your father thinking, leaving her behind?”

            Katara’s mouth twisted in a sly little grin. “That my brother had to return to the North, and I refused to spend my months alone in the Fire Nation shadowed everywhere by one of my male relatives, so my Uncle Bato volunteered his eldest daughter for a chaperone and my family could return to the South with their minds at ease.”

            Zuko couldn’t help but look incredulous. “Yeah…but isn’t Nerrivik also your best friend from, like, birth?”

            Katara winked. “And _far_ less responsible than I would ever be, which is why she’s inside, dancing her heart out with all of your fellow officers, and I’m out here, holding hands with you.” Katara smiled from ear-to-ear, feeling very proud of herself. Her and Nerrivik were not just friends and cousins, but also the same age, which made Nerrivik the worst _possible_ choice for chaperone. From the moment the two Water Tribe women – both now nineteen – had arrived at the Prince Yoshihito’s mansion for the party, Nerrivik had thrown herself into the festivities. Zuko had swung invitations for all the junior officers from his regiment, and Nerrivik had insisted on chugging every glass of wine she could get ahold of and dancing at least a dozen times with each officer, even poor Toru, who kept trying to sneak off into a corner to giggle with one of Yoshihito’s young male servants. Nerrivik, naturally, had ignored the poor lieutenant’s excuses and dragged him out on the dance floor again and again, until Katara’s cousin and friend was flushed bright red from head-to-toe as if she suffered from a fever.

            _You’d never know she doesn’t speak a word of Nihongo,_ Katara thought with a grin.

            Zuko took her other hand, squeezed it tight. “Yeah…it is nice, isn’t it?”

            Katara gave a theatric shiver, because she had been spending a lot of time with Azula and Ty Lee and even Mai since her family had gone back to the South, and it was hard not to let some of their penchant for dramatics rub off on her. “What, the weather, or being alone out here with you?”

            He gulped and resisted the impulse to tear his hands free to simultaneously rub at both his scarred chest and the back of his neck. “Well…um…the weather’s a bit chilly, to be honest, but…um…uh… _both…?”_

“You think _this_ is cold, Zuko?” Katara rolled her eyes and giggled. “I can’t _wait_ to take you home for the first time. Down South, we call this a _warm summer’s day._ ”

            Zuko shivered at the thought. The Fire Nation knew winter, and up in the mountains and along the northern and southern coasts, heavy snowfall and iced-over rivers were not unknown, but the idea of having to spend four-to-six months of the year fighting through five-meter-deep snowdrifts and while enduring months of harbors closed off by thick sheets of ice filled him with dread. “Can we not and say that we didn’t?”

            Katara shook her head. “You gotta go down South and face the music eventually, Your Highness.”

            Zuko blanched. A few minutes before, he had left the party for the balcony, feeling flushed from wine and fire whiskey, his head spinning from too much laughter and too much dancing as he tugged open his uniform’s collar and sucked down the cool night air of a Fire Nation autumn. Now, though, that was all gone. His skin felt bone white and cold, and his palms suddenly felt slick and clammy with sweat. The thing in his pocket, normally so light that he had to compulsively touch it to make it sure it was still there, felt like it had suddenly turned to several metric tons of lead. His eyes went wide, his throat closed up, his scar started to throb and a tremor went up and down his spine.

            _Because I have to propose._

He had thought he had known what was going to happen, when Katara told him she had decided to go through with their proposed marriage and be his wife. The women of the families involved would decide upon a dowry ( _though, since Zuko was royalty, the dowry would be small, a simple token gesture towards tradition_ ), then he and Katara would plight their troth before his uncle, the Lord High Fire Sage, and probably a shaman up from the South, the engagement – along with the alliance between the Fire Nation and the Southern Water Tribes – would be announced, and the wedding invitations would start to go out. He was a junior prince, so the wedding would be small, probably no more than three-or-four-hundred guests, and by the end of the year, they would be married.

            But then his mother had come to him and explained that there was one Southern Water Tribe tradition that Katara’s mother had insisted on, that being that the engagement would not be considered official until Zuko got down on his knee and personally asked Katara to marry him. Even standing at his uncle’s side as his father was brought before the Scarlet Throne in chains after the bill of attainder was passed had seemed easy by comparison. Nothing in his life had prepared him for such an act. He could imagine himself standing before the altar with Katara, indeed, he couldn’t imagine doing so with anyone else. He could picture himself leading his men into the breach of some fortress, burning his way forward with one hand and waving his _katana_ with the other. He could even easily imagine himself failing miserably in his first battle, because he was Zuko and imagining failure had always been easier than imagining success.

            But risking all from one knee, looking up into the deep blue eyes of the girl he had fallen in love with? _That_ he could not imagine, because he couldn’t imagine a world in which, finally presented with the choice, she would actually say _yes._

            “You know, Zuko, I’m not going to say _no._ ”

            His eyes unclouded, and he became aware of the warmth of her breath on his chin. He looked down, deep into her eyes, and he realized that she had stepped closer to him. Their hands were entwined together tighter than ever, her nose was almost touching his skin, and he had no idea how he could stand, he was so weak at the knees.

            “But…I mean…” He took a deep breath, swallowed, desperately trying to get moisture back into his mouth and desperately failing. “But…I mean…you’re smart and strong and beautiful and just so, so perfect…why would you waste your time on me? I mean, I’m awkward and fumbling and ugly and I can’t keep my big mouth shut and…just… _blah…_ ”

            She popped an eyebrow, and wondered if he knew the effect he was having on her. Those were the things _he_ saw, but she didn’t. When she looked in a mirror, she saw a girl who was, at most, _cute,_ a bit too tall and a bit too thin, except in the Fire Nation, where she seemed far too curvy. She saw herself as stubborn and pigheaded and with a mouth that got her in trouble more often than not and she would make the world’s worst princess, but just as he didn’t seem to see that, she couldn’t understand how he couldn’t see what she saw when she looked at him. She saw a young man, freshly-turned-twenty, who was brave and determined and kind and gentle and far too handsome for his own good.

            _He was her destiny, and she was his._ She felt that in her bones, and she knew, deep down inside, that he felt it, too. Him and her, her and him. _Katara and Zuko, Zuko and Katara._ Just beyond the horizon, the world was teetering on the edge of an abyss. Revolution simmered, war loomed, an Avatar was about to fall, and through it all, she would have to forge her destiny.

            _I can do it without him, but I don’t want to, and maybe, just maybe, that’s what love really is._

She bit down on a soft giggle. _In which case, love is like a fever: You can beat a fever alone, endure it alone, but who would actually want to?_

Finally, though, she knew had to say something. She couldn’t think of anything _good_ , so she settled for, “Why would I say _yes?_ Because I love you, you big goof.”

            Katara may have thought that the line was silly and dumb, but for Zuko, it was everything. Suddenly, all of his fears and doubts and worries fell away. His hands stopped trembling, his mouth stopped feeling like sandpaper, and his throat opened up enough for him to speak full sentences again. _Almost like an illness is passing,_ he thought. _The specter of my father is being banished from my family’s life, and my destiny looms on the horizon._

_My destiny…and **hers.**_

“When the war comes,” he said, plucking the words from thin air and not even bothering to think about them before he spoke, _maybe thinking without speaking can actually help me for once,_ “and my regiment gets called up, I’m going to have to go and fight.”

            She nodded, looking at him like he was saying the dumbest thing she had ever heard. “I know that, just as I know that I’m going with you.”

            It said a lot about them, he felt, that he didn’t even bother to try and talk her out of it. Instead, he decided that, for once, _fortune did, indeed, favor the bold,_ so he let go of her hands and dropped to one knee and pulled out the ring. It was a simple ring, unadorned gold holding a single gem of shimmering purple set with two small diamonds on each side. She saw the ring and gasped, and actually let him say her name before she whispered _yes_.

-$-$-$-$-$-

            The Palace tried to keep news of the engagement a secret, so that the Lady Katara’s parents could be brought back from the South for the official betrothal ceremony and the sealing of the alliance with those Southern chiefs who remained uncommitted to either side of the coming war, but, alas, the Prince Yoshihito wasn’t known as _the biggest mouth in the Fire Nation_ for nothing, and the papers had it within forty-eight hours. The people were worried by the rumors of war and exhausted by tales of failing Avatars, and when the rumor spread that, if the Prince Zuko’s regiment went to war, the soon-to-be Princess Katara would go with him, the people’s affection bloomed. They flooded into the Palace Square, and refused to leave until the Fire Lord came out on the balcony, confirmed the news, and presented the young couple for the people’s approval.

            They cheered themselves hoarse, especially when the soon-to-be Princess pulled the Prince into a deep kiss and the Lady Ursa burst into happy tears.


	7. Coffee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's all fun and games, until your uncle the Fire Lord decides to give an impromptu lesson on the female anatomy.
> 
> Once more, because this is Zutara Week and...I dunno...kids might be reading this stuff? I hope not. Anyhoo, this story actually does have quite a bit of adult language and some adult themes, so, you know, watch out? *shrug*

**Coffee**

 

“SO, FINALLY,” TOSHIRO SAID, A GLASS OF FIRE WHISKEY IN ONE HAND AND A HALF-SMOKED CIGAR IN THE OTHER, “THE CHAOS COMES TO AN END AND THE SERVANTS START CLEARING THE DEBRIS AWAY. A confused look on her face, the Oka-san turns to our hero and says, ‘Alright, _fine,_ I’ll grant you that the ostrich-horse had its uses, _but what the hell was the pinecone for?!’”_

 Thus, the infamous story of the man who took an ostrich-horse and a pinecone into a _geisha_ house came to a close, and they all roared with laughter. Toru and Ryu had to hold each other up, they were laughing so hard, and Hideki Yukawa, another officer from Zuko’s regiment, actually let out a chuckle and allowed himself a half-smile.

            “Gods, Toshiro,” Zuko gasped, wiping tears from his eyes, “that must be the hundredth time you’ve told that damn joke, and I don’t know how, but it just gets funnier every time.”

            Toshiro struck a pose as he took a deep gulp from his whiskey. “I’ve always felt that it’s the facial expressions that sell the story.”

            “Hell no!” Ryu roared, grabbing one of the scattered bottles of fire whiskey and pouring himself a fresh glass. “It’s that stupid Oka-san voice you do! It’s spot on!” He smacked Toru in the arm so hard Toru almost toppled from his chair. “Isn’t that right, Toru?”

            Toru frowned and rubbed his arm, two combined actions that did, indeed, send him toppling from his chair, causing a loud _crash_ as he hit the ground in all of his dress uniformed glory. The room roared with laughter, as Toru giggled drunkenly and muttered, “It’s not my fault you two idiots always left me to entertain the Oka-san while you went upstairs…”

            “Wait, wait, just _wait,_ ” Zuko said, raising a finger and setting down his glass of water. “When the hell did you three go to a _geisha_ house?” He leveled the finger at Toru. “And why on earth would you be sitting there chatting with an Oka-san?”

            Toru shrugged. “Well, it’s not like there was anything upstairs to interest me.”

            Toshiro plopped himself into a handy chair. “You’d be surprised. We mostly just played cards with the _geisha_ and tried to come up with new reasons for why we hadn’t yet brought the Prince Zuko by.”

            “It was the only reason the Oka-san kept letting us drink for free, actually,” Ryu offered.

            “Hold on a second.” Zuko held out a hand, which Toru kindly took to help him off his floor cushion and up onto his feet. Zuko wobbled for a minute, grabbed his glass of water, took a gulp, and jabbed his cigarette at Toshiro. “There was a _geisha_ house in Shu Jing-“

            “Which I’m stunned that you didn’t know about,” Toru offered. “Your uncle was a star patron during his time at the Academy.”

            “Whatever,” Zuko replied, waving the point away, “what I’m trying to get straight is that you three spent our four years at the Academy using my name and the promise of my patronage, all so you could get free drinks and play card games with _geisha_ girls, when Ryu could’ve paid for everything with the loose change that occasionally fell out of his father’s pockets while the man walked in the garden?”

            “Oh, come on,” Ryu objected, “my father’s not _that_ rich. Toshiro’s family is _easily_ twice as wealthy as mine.”

            “ _That’s not the point!”_ Zuko bellowed, rounding on Yukawa’s corner, which was why he missed Toru grimace and toss a five _yen_ coin to Toshiro, who had just won the _How Long Before We Can Get Zuko to Scream_ pool. “Did you know anything about this, Yukawa?”

            To that, Yukawa shrugged, grunted, and waved a hand through the air.

            “See?” Toshiro said, pocketing another five _yen_ piece from Ryu. “Yuk gets it.”

            “Okay, yes, Yuk makes a good point,” Zuko admitted, “but that still doesn’t change the fact that-“

            Zuko never did get to finish his point, for that was the moment when the door banged open to reveal a hysterical-looking Sokka, immaculately dressed in the uniform of High King Arnook’s Household Foot Guards, eyes wide as saucers, sweat pouring down his face, a big, remarkably ugly pewter mug gripped in one of his hands.

            Oh, and he was shouting at the top of his lungs, too.

            _“Zuko holy shit thank the gods I found you listen I have a very important question and why is everyone staring at me it’s not like I’m the only one wearing a gaudy uniform in here and anyways while I’m here you did a great job at the ceremony last night the shaman was very impressed and I’m pretty sure Katara told me to say hi but I can’t quite remember because she was also making really gross comments about how much she was looking forward to tonight and that’s just gross I’m pretty sure I’ll never sleep again with those thoughts in my mind though Yue says that I’m just being an idiot and holy shit have you tried this shit-“_ a sip from the mug “ _it’s fucking amazing how did I never hear of this before anyways what did I come in here for oh right Katara says that after today she’s going to be the same rank as me and that can’t be right because I’m a Crown Prince and she’ll just be a regular Princess and is that right I can’t be sure and holy fucking shit Zuko what in the name of all that is holy are you wearing?!”_

Silence fell like a thunderclap as everyone froze into place. Two horrified servants stood spellbound in the doorway behind each of Sokka’s shoulders, while Toshiro stood transfixed, cigar halfway to his mouth. Even Yukawa looked stunned, or as stunned as he was capable of looking, turning to blink three times at Zuko and make a face.

            “That’s an excellent question, Yuk,” Zuko replied as he returned his attention to his soon-to-be brother-in-law ( _by Fire Nation rites; he and Katara had performed the Water Tribe rites the previous night under the light of a full moon out in the Palace Gardens_ ). “Right, so…any chance you can try that again, Sokka, perhaps in a language at least one of us can understand?”

            Sokka leaned back, deeply confused. He was trembling from head-to-toe, which had the amusing effect of making his sword jangle at his hip while he took another deep gulp from his mug. “I…um…what?”

            “No one understood a word of what you just said, dude,” Toshiro said.

            “Well,” Sokka said ( _in Nihongo this time_ ), still looking as if he was somewhere far, far away, “at least you understood me, right, Zuk?”

            The rant had been in Inuktitut, true, but Zuko had lost the thread a few times. _Assuming there **was** a thread_. “I’m pretty sure you asked something about what I was wearing towards the end…?”

            Sokka’s head bobbed up and down, producing an effect that quickly reduced most of the room to helpless laughter. “Yes that’s exactly what I asked at least at the _end_ that’s what I asked, well, I mean, that and a bunch of other things, it’s not what I came in here to ask, but before we get back to that,” a slurp from the mug, “what the hell are you wearing?”

            Zuko grimaced as he looked down at his get-up. For the Water Tribe rites, he had been allowed to wear his dress uniform, but, alas, he was royalty in the Fire Nation, which meant something rather…well… _ridiculous._

“ _This,”_ Zuko said, stubbing his cigarette out in a convenient ashtray, “is the traditional regalia of a Fire Nation Prince of the Blood, to be worn at the wedding of such a personage.”

            Sokka looked his soon-to-be brother-in-law up and down. “What, like some strange cross between a fire ferret and an armadillo-lion, only slightly more ridiculous?”

            Zuko chuckled. “Come on, Sokka, it’s not _that_ bad. I mean, sure, the robes are a bit cumbersome, and this head-dress is pretty fucked up,” a statement he punctuated by giving his head a shake, which set the bells to ringing, “but I think it looks pretty good on me.”

            “Nah,” Ryu said, polishing off his latest glass of whiskey and pouring himself another, “I’m with His Highness on this one, that shit looks _awful._ ”

            Zuko responded by flipping his friend an obscene gesture that was _very unbecoming_ of a Prince of the Blood, while taking a sip of his water and wishing that he could have a _real_ drink, _but I’ve been up since yesterday afternoon and dawn’s only a couple of hours away, and it’s not like I can lie down and take a nap in this awful get-up, but whatever, just a few more packs of cigarettes and I should be able to make it, then I can take a quick nap before the reception and then-_

            “Right, so,” Sokka bellowed, slurping down some more of whatever was in his mug, “back to why I _really_ came in here, see, I popped in on my sister and she was crowing and being all, _We’re going to be the same rank now, you big doof, no more strutting around trying to act superior,_ which is _ridiculous_ because I don’t do that _at all,_ well except for a couple of times but Katara _totally_ deserved it _,_ and my _wife_ was backing her up but I’m pretty sure that’s because Katara took her side the last time Yue and I disagreed on something either that or my wife is just being her beautiful and kind-hearted and _amazing_ self so whatever point is-“

            “For the love of _Agni,_ ” Zuko snarled, snatching the mug from Sokka’s hand, “what the ever-loving _fuck_ are you _drinking?”_ He took a sniff of what appeared to be some kind of pitch-black liquid and immediately recoiled. “Gods, that smells _horrid._ ”

            Sokka’s face lit up. “That’s what I thought but then I tried it because I’ve been up for what feels like _days_ because my wife’s been losing her ever-loving _mind_ over this wedding and I’ll probably kill my father if he grouches about something one more damn time and I’m pretty sure Mom will help me hide the body at this point and-“

            Zuko clenched his fist, somehow managing to resist the urge to slap Sokka hard across the face. “Whatever, dude, just tell me _what the hell this is?”_

Sokka threw his arms out, nearly bowling over the aforementioned two servants, who were quietly picking up the detritus of Zuko’s groomsmen’s impromptu party before attempting to make a quick escape. “ _Coffee!”_

Silence, before Toru made a face and said, “Wait, you mean that awful stuff they brew at the Western Air Temples?”

            “That’s just the thing!” Sokka came very close to screeching. “Only it’s not awful _it’s amazing!”_

Intrigued, Zuko took a sip, then immediately spat it back out. “Oh _gods_ that is _vile._ How much of this _curse upon my taste buds_ have you had, Sokka?”

            “I dunno I lost track somewhere around the eighth cup which reminds me I really have to pee where’s the nearest bathroom?”

            Toshiro was already heading for the door. “Come with me, I need to drain the snake anyways.”

            Sokka turned on a heel and strode off, only coming to a halt when he realized that he had outrun Toshiro, about whose shoulders he threw his arm and started loudly rambling about… _something._

            Meanwhile, Zuko handed the mug of _coffee_ to one of the previously mentioned servants. “Do me a favor, and go toss this horror into a fire, if you don’t mind,” an order the servant promised to obey before bowing himself out of the room, closing the door behind him. That left only Toru, Ryu, Yukawa, and Zuko in the room, with the others watching Zuko intensely as he strode across the room, the bells on his headdress ringing as he poured himself a fresh glass of water and lit a new cigarette. He sipped his water, puffed his cigarette, and smiled.

            “You know, he’s actually right, Katara won’t be the same rank as him after the wedding. I mean, she’ll be _close,_ but seeing as I’m…oh…fourteenth in line to the throne?”

            “Fifteenth,” Ryu corrected. “Remember, your Cousin Aiko just had another baby.

            Zuko laughed. “Right, _fifteenth,_ so, _yeah._ ”

            “Was that what Sokka wanted to know?” Toru asked.

            “You bet.”

            “So you _did_ understand him?”

            “Of course I did.”

            “So why didn’t you tell him he was right?”

            “Because my wonderful, amazing, _gorgeous_ wife, you know, _Her Royal Highness the Princess Katara,”_ a speech that elicited a chorus of groans, “hush you idiots, you’re just jealous, point is, she made me promise to back her up on this, and, you know, wives come first.”

            “Just be sure you remember that tonight!” Ryu shouted.

            To that, Zuko could only blush bright red and change the subject.

-$-$-$-$-$-

            “Okay, Katara, I know you don’t want to hear this, but you need to listen to your mother very carefully, okay?”

            “Um…okay, Mom. What don’t I want to hear?”

            “It’s about tonight. Some things are going to happen and they can be very frightening if you’re not properly prepared and-“

            “Oh, for the love of the _gods,_ Mom, _I know.”_

That threw Kya for a loop. She reared back, eyes going wide, before narrowing until they were almost closed. “How could you _possibly_ know about _that?_ What have you and Zuko been up to? I _knew_ I shouldn’t have let you go to that Officers’ Ball, and I _definitely_ shouldn’t have trusted your _cousin_ to keep a careful eye on you, but Yue, I’m going to have to blame her for this, she talked me into it and-“

            _“MOM!”_

Kya blinked in shock. “What?”

            Katara couldn’t believe her ears. Here she was, half-married, Yumiko-san carefully directing various female servants as they bound Katara up into her wedding _kimono_ and started to work on her hair, and her mother was worrying about her _chastity?!_ That would have already been _gone – and good riddance,_ Katara felt – if her parents hadn’t insisted on having the Water Tribe ceremony _first_. “Mom,” she said, fixing her mother with a _look_ , she would’ve grabbed her mother’s hands but her own hands were too busy being held out to both sides of her body while servants worked on her nails, “first thing’s first, Zuko would _never_ take advantage of me.”

            In the corner where she was playing Pai Sho with Ty Lee, Azula scoffed and rolled her eyes. “Who ever said that my _brother_ was the one who would be taking advantage?”

            Katara blinked, hoping she didn’t look like she had spent an inordinate amount of times contemplating how to do just that. “I…um… _what…?”_

Kya nodded, looking rather sad and resigned. “I’m afraid Her Highness is right, Zuko would _never_ make that kind of move, it’s _you_ I don’t trust, Katara.”

            Katara shot Azula a glare before turning back to her mother. “Why, because I’m just like _you?”_

Kya sighed. “Pretty much…thank the _gods_ your father was able to convince the shaman to move the ceremony up a month, but _anyways,_ that’s not the point, what I’m talking about is-“

            “And that brings me to my _second point,_ which is that Zuko and I haven’t done _anything,_ ” which, sure, wasn’t _one-hundred-percent_ true, but Toru had walked out on that balcony at the Officers’ Ball just in time and nothing _fun_ had really happened, _damn my luck, but whatever,_ “which brings me to my _third point,_ that being, I already know _exactly_ what you’re about to tell me.”

            Kya reared back. “You _do?_ Since _when?”_

Katara shot her mother one of her patented _looks._ “Since you started dragging me to your knitting circles after I turned ten?”

            Kya snapped open a fan and put it to work, which Katara felt was a _bit_ dramatic, but the woman _was_ about to watch her daughter get married for the second time within twelve hours, so Katara let it slide, _not like I can do anything about it,_ “Oh, come now, dear, since when do my friends and I talk about such things at our knitting circles?”

            “Since ice wine was invented?”

            A long pause followed, before Kya snapped her fan closed and giggled. “That’s true, your aunt is a bit of a talker once she gets into her third glass…”

            Katara felt that was unfair, since if _any_ of the women at her mother’s knitting circles was responsible for scarring Katara’s young mind, it was her mother and her detailed – _yet maddeningly vague, not that I **wanted** details but either say it or don’t, Mom _– stories about Chief Hakoda’s _skills,_ but, Katara supposed, it was neither here nor there. “Sure, let’s blame it on Aunt Aluki, but between that and the talk the Lady Ursa gave me not too long ago,” _as well as Azula’s **detailed** accounts of all **manner** of adventures, _“I’m pretty sure I’ve got a handle on what’s ahead for me tonight.”

            Kya sighed and shook her head. “Well, if you’re sure…”

            Katara very much _wasn’t_ sure, but, as the Lady Ursa and Her Majesty the Fire Lady had explained, _no one ever really is, man or woman, and I’m pretty sure Zuko and I can figure things out, it’s not like we don’t have the rest of our lives to get it right._ The thought sent a flush creeping up her face as her mind began to wander, and it was with great difficulty that she brought herself back under control. “Well, now that _that’s_ done, where did Yue go?”

            Azula looked up from between the fingers she had splayed across her face, wearing an expression that told Katara that her soon-to-be sister-in-law was losing to Ty Lee, _and badly._ “She’s still trying to chase down your brother.”

            Katara groaned. “That idiot…I _told_ him not to start chugging that _coffee_ stuff, but does he ever listen to me? _No._ Zula, _your_ brother always listens to you. What’s your secret?”

            Azula shot a finger at Ty Lee, who perked right up with a great big smile as Azula explained her secret. “He doesn’t listen to me at all; I just have Ty say whatever I need him to do.”

            “He can’t say no to me!” Ty Lee chortled in a high-pitched voice that left a faint ringing sensation in Katara’s ears. “I mean, sometimes he _tries,_ but it’s just so _adorable_ that I start laughing and then he does that _Zuko Grumble and Glare_ and stomps his feet and does what Zula wants him to do.”

            If Katara hadn’t been busy being stuffed into her wedding clothes, she would’ve written that down. “Yumiko-san?”

            “Yes, Your Highness?”

            Katara smirked. She wasn’t _technically_ a Princess yet, but Yumiko-san had started calling her that the previous day and Katara couldn’t quite bring herself to object. “Make a note of what Ty Lee just said.”

            “Of course, Your Highness, though, might I just remind Your Highness that there will be avenues of persuasion available to you that have never been available to Lee-san.”

            That comment sent a ripple of reactions through the room. All the various servants and maids giggled, Kya started humming and flapping her fan, Azula looked like she was going to retch, and Ty Lee, of course, burst into hysterical laughter.

            Katara, as could only be expected, blushed bright red and prayed to La that her inner thoughts weren’t as visible as she suspected they were.

-$-$-$-$-$-

            “You know, Nephew,” Zuko’s uncle said as they approached the entrance to the Palace Temple, “I actually considered abolishing the tradition of the Royal Wedding Regalia.”

            Zuko, who was so sick of the bells ringing from his headdress that he was one step away from hurling it against a wall and running off to find Katara and elope, rounded on his uncle with hope in his eyes. “Any chance you can just…you know…go ahead and abolish the practice within the next ten minutes?”

            Uncle threw back his head and laughed. “And what, deprive Katara of the chance to wear the gorgeous wedding _kimono_ that Asami-san and the Lady Mai designed for her? Perish the thought!”

            Zuko’s shoulder slumped in despair…or would have, if his robes had allowed him to do such a thing. “Then why bring it up?”

            Uncle waggled his eyebrows and winked. “Oh, no reason, just thought it would be an interesting tidbit to share.”

            Zuko rolled his eyes and groaned, the last true expressive gestures his wedding regalia left to him. “That was cruel, Uncle, very, very cruel…”

            His Majesty the Fire Lord Iroh slapped his belly as he chuckled. “Well, have to get my jabs in now, my dear Nephew; a few hours from now, anyone who wishes to get at you will have to deal with your wife, first!” Uncle laughed some more at the image, then gave his belly a few more slaps as he turned his gaze to Zuko’s groomsmen. “I see the fire whiskey was flowing back in your rooms, Nephew.”

            Zuko turned around, and sighed. In some perverse application of _Sokka Logic,_ his soon-to-be brother-in-law had decided to counteract the gallons of coffee he had consumed by consuming an equal quantity of alcohol, a quest Zuko’s fellow officers had been more than happy to assist him in. The end result was that Zuko was stone-cold sober, while the train of dress uniformed officers behind him was three sheets to the wind. “Indeed…is this normal, Uncle?”

            “It is, actually. I remember one of my groomsmen, a fellow officer from my regiment at the time, as a matter of fact, had to run out of the temple halfway through the ceremony to vomit in those bushes right over there.”

            “The intricately trimmed hedges right outside the door?”

            “The very ones, but don’t worry; soon, these young men will be getting married, and _you_ can be the one to get drunk as _they_ wait for the sun to come up.”

            Zuko sighed with thoughts of sweet, sweet revenge. _Mostly on Toshiro and Ryu; as the fifth of five sons and being inclined the way he was, the odds of Toru ever getting married were **very** low. _“One can only hope…” He paused, as somewhere, a clock began to toll the half-hour. “Is tapping one’s foot, waiting for one’s bride, also part of tradition?”

            That sent Uncle into his heartiest round of laughter _yet._ “Oh, is it! Your Aunt, gods bless her, almost missed the sunrise, she was running so far behind!”

            Zuko responded to that with an incredulous look. “I find that _very_ hard to believe, Uncle.”

            Uncle tapped a finger to his nose. “That’s because my wife has done her best to pretend it never happened, so let’s keep that story between the two of us.”

            “Will do, Uncle.”

            “Now, while we’re waiting for your lovely bride, I think now is a good chance for you and me to have a little _talk._ ”

            “…about what, Uncle?”

            “Well, you see, when a man and a woman retire to their wedding bed, there are certain things that occur-“

            “Uncle, Mother already-”

            “-things that can make a young man quail in fear, if he doesn’t know what to expect-“

            “ _Uncle, Akihito sat me down **years ago** and-”_

“-but there’s nothing to be afraid of, I promise you, especially if you listen very carefully to the advice your dear old Uncle is about to dispense-“

            “Oh _Gods,_ take me now…”

            “-now, first, you need to be aware of some of the special parts of a young lady’s anatomy, like the-“

            “ _Oh…gods…”_

-$-$-$-$-$-

            Katara frowned, the tip of her tongue peeking out of the side of her mouth as she concentrated harder than she had ever concentrated in her life. “You know,” she muttered, focusing on her very small, very careful steps, “this wouldn’t be so bad if it wasn’t for the sandals. Is there any chance I can just…you know…wear, I dunno, _anything else_ when I enter the temple?”

            On her left, where the princess had an arm carefully threaded through the crook of Katara’s own, Azula huffed. “I’m afraid not; tradition is everything, where royal weddings are concerned.”

            “Besides,” the Lady Ursa said from her position on Katara’s right, where she was doing the exact same thing as her daughter, “I wouldn’t worry about it too much. Remember, the walk up the central aisle to the altar is _very_ slow, you’ll have Zuko’s arm to lean on the entire time, and you wouldn’t be the first woman to trip on the hem of her _kimono,_ so you’ll be in _very_ good company.”

            “Didn’t one of your cousins fall flat on her rear at her wedding?” Ty Lee asked Azula, to which Azula replied by giggling and saying, “Yeah, that was Cousin Aiko; I thought Aunt and Uncle were going to die right then and there, they started laughing so hard.”

            Katara frowned. “I like Princess Aiko; it’s a bummer that she can’t be here.” The Princess Aiko, the Fire Lord’s eldest daughter, had given birth only two weeks before, which meant she still had two weeks left of her confinement. “Which reminds me…Lady Ursa?”

            The Lady Ursa gave Katara’s elbow a squeeze. “You can just call me _Ursa,_ Katara; I’m going to be your mother-in-law in a few hours.”

            From just behind them, where she was walking beside Yumiko-san and leading Katara’s sister Kanna by the hand ( _Katara’s other two sisters having been deemed a bit too young to stay up all night after the Water Tribe rites the night before_ ), Kya asked, “Ursa, that reminds me…I know that there’ve been some rehearsals, but is this really going to take four hours?”

            “Afraid so, Your Grace,” Azula responded. “Never let it be said that the Fire Nation’s Royal Family half-asses anything!”

            “Azula!” The Lady Ursa barked. “ _Language.”_

“Sorry, _Mother,_ ” Azula said, managing to sound not sorry at all.

            The Lady Ursa sighed and rolled her eyes. “ _Gods give me strength._ But yes, Kya, I’m afraid that four hours is the standard length for royal wedding rites, but all eyes will be on our children, so feel to duck out whenever you feel the need. Also, what was your question, Katara dear?”

            “Right, well…what’s the purpose of the whole _confinement_ thing, here in the Fire Nation? Do I really have to be stuck in my room for a month before and a month after giving birth, or is there wiggle room?”

            “Well,” the Lady Ursa said, “I’m afraid it all boils down to the fact that giving birth is very dangerous in a country where waterbending midwives aren’t always readily available. It’s for purely health reasons, so when you give birth, I imagine that the confinement period won’t have to be as strict, unless I miss my guess on your lady mother bringing a few skilled midwives up from the South?”

            Before Kya could respond, Azula chimed in with, “Gods, Mother, way to put pressure on the poor girl.”

            “Why would there be pressure?” Katara asked. “I have no qualms about getting pregnant as soon as possible.” _Well, it’s more that I have no qualms about the **process** of getting pregnant, but hey, you take the bad with the good._

To that, Azula’s went wide as she whispered, “ _Agni, you **are** eager._”

            “ _You have **no** idea,” _Katara whispered back, heedless of both her soon-to-be mother-in-law and her own mother. “ _In fact-FUCK!”_

Just as Katara had been about to speak, the party of women had rounded a corner, which brought Katara face-to-face with a middle-aged bald-headed man of the Air Nomads, a rather enormous, stunningly serene smile plastered on his face, flanked by a young Air Nomad novice on one side and a corporal of the Guards on the other. It was the absolute _last_ thing Katara expected to see that day, so she felt that her blurted obscenity was justified. As the party ground to a halt, the Air Nomad began to perform a deep bow, still smiling, though the smile began to fade when Yumiko-san magically appeared between him and Katara.

            “I’m sorry, my lord,” Yumiko-san said, managing to make polite courtesy sound like a deadly threat, “but you shouldn’t be here. I’m going to have to ask you to make your way back to the Temple entrance and join the other male guests for the opening procession.”

            “ _Hey, Azula…”_

_“Yes, Katara?”_

_“Who is that?”_

_“Um…I’m not sure, actually…Mother, you know him?”_

_“I do, actually, though why he should be here-“_

As if he could hear their whispers ( _which perhaps he could; Katara had heard that skilled airbenders could perform great feats of both speaking and listening through manipulation of their element_ ), the Air Nomad’s smile returned to his face as he completed his bow and spoke in perfect Nihongo. “Allow me to introduce myself, Your Highnesses, Your Grace, my ladies, I have the honor of being called Lobsang, of the Southern Air Temple.”

            “Wait,” Yue said from her spot walking beside Ty Lee ( _she had finally managed to corral Sokka and return him to his proper place with the men, just far enough back that she hadn’t gotten a good look at the man revealed as Lobsang_ ), “the Avatar’s grandson?”

            Lobsang bowed his head. “That is correct, Your Highness.”

            “Is His Lordship your Grandfather attending the wedding?” the Lady Ursa asked, sounding a bit peeved at the possibility of such a detail having been withheld from her, a sentiment that, judging from a grunt of agreement, Katara’s own mother seemed to share ( _the two women having become close friends and allies over the past few months, to the despair of their children_ ).

            “I’m afraid not,” Lobsang said, shaking his head and spreading his hands in apology. “My Grandfather would like nothing better, he’s always loved weddings, but, alas, his knees are not up to a royal wedding ceremony, I’m afraid, so my brother Tenzin will be attending in his place.”

            “Then why are you here, if I might ask…?” Yumiko-san politely enquired, in a tone that Katara couldn’t help but wish she would someday master.

            “To pass on a message from my Grandfather to Her Royal Highness the soon-to-be Princess Katara.”

            Yumiko-san bowed. “I will be honored to take that message, for I’m afraid Her Highness really must be on her way…”

            Lobsang shrugged. “I’m afraid I need to give her the message myself.” A pause ( _which Katara couldn’t help but suspect was for dramatic effect_ ), and then he said, “Alone, I’m afraid.”

            Time may have been of the essence, for Fire Nation weddings were performed at dawn and the sun was already a strong orange-red glow on the horizon, but the grandson of the Avatar was the grandson of the Avatar, which was how Katara came to be settled into a hastily obtained chair, her friends and family waiting just around the corner, a kind-looking Air Nomad seated on the floor, puffing a pipe into life.

            “Thank you,” Katara said, as Yumiko-san gave her a glass of water before bowing and retiring to a polite – but useful – distance. Katara took a sip, then carefully patted a few wrinkles from her _kimono,_ which, sure, was quite cumbersome, but it _was_ beautiful and, complain though she did about the lack of comfort, Katara absolutely _loved it._ “Now, my lord,” she said, turning back to Lobsang, “on to business, I believe.”

            Lobsang chuckled, shaking his head in polite disbelief. “My word, Your Highness, have you changed.”

            Katara frowned. “I’m not sure that we’ve met, my lord.”

            “Well, we haven’t, not exactly, but I saw you at your brother’s wedding in the North. Two years ago that was now, and you were decidedly uncomfortable.”

            Katara remembered. She had glued herself to her mother’s side and stayed there for the entire night. Everything about the wedding had overwhelmed her. In just six months, she had gone from the daughter of a tribal chief in the South to the sister of the heir to the throne of the Northern Water Tribe, and ten months later, she had become aunt to a brand-new Northern Water Tribe Prince. At the wedding, she had said little and danced less, nursing a glass of ice wine and trying not to say anything embarrassing.

            _But now…_ She took a deep breath and smiled. _What was I so afraid of?_ “You can see, my lord, that that’s not the case now.”

            Lobsang threw back his head and laughed. “No, it’s not! Now, you are a true princess from head-to-toe, but I shouldn’t be surprised. At the wedding, Grandfather pointed to you and told me, _Mark that young lady well, Lobsang; she has the heart of royalty, and before her twentieth birthday, she will have the title to match.”_

            To say that those words threw her for a loop would have been a rather remarkably understatement. “Your…I mean…the Avatar said that about…about…about _me…?”_

Lobsang bowed his head. “Every word, Your Highness, every word. I was incredulous, I have to admit-“

            “As I would have been if His Lordship had told me Himself.”

            “I can imagine! Still, my Grandfather has walked this world for many years, and the Avatar has walked it even longer, and Holy Mother Raava was here when the universe began; there is very little that one can doubt him on.”

            Katara bowed her head in reverence at the mention of Holy Mother Raava. “That, no one can possibly doubt, my lord, though, I have to ask…”

            “Why did he ask me to make such an effort to speak with you alone?”

            “The thought had crossed my mind, my lord.”

            “Well…it was tell you this, Your Highness.” And with that, the smile faded from Lobsang’s eyes. He took a final puff of his pipe, extinguishing it with a wave of his hand before setting it aside. He took a deep breath, let it out, then he looked deep into Katara’s eyes, and there was a part of her, a part that she would only tell Zuko about, later that night, that shivered.

            “Your Highness, within a year of this very moment, my Grandfather will depart this plane of existence. War, he is afraid, will follow soon after; Long Feng will not make the mistake that Fire Lord Sozin made, he will not hesitate to strike his enemies before a new Avatar can be found and trained. When the war comes, no nation will escape the damage, and even my Grandfather is unable to see when or how it will end, but he can see this: _You,_ Your Highness, will be at the center of events, before the end comes. You, your husband, and your daughter.”

            Katara’s eyes went wide, her hand instinctively flying to her stomach. “My… _my daughter…? My first child will be a…a daughter…?”_

Lobsang shrugged. “That, Your Highness, I cannot say for certain; my Grandfather can be…well…let’s just say that he can be _maddeningly vague_ at times. One of the drawbacks of being the Avatar is that, at a certain point, one starts to talk a bit like a god.”

            “So I’ve heard.” Like everyone in the world, Katara had listened to more tales of people being frustrated by an Avatar’s riddles than she could possibly count. “Still, I…I don’t know that I understand. That Zuko and I have the strength and the ability, or at the very least would be _willing,_ to stand at the crux of such events, I do not doubt,” _so long as we stand hand-in-hand, together, as we always have, as we always will, though what that means, I really don’t know,_ “but…Zuko is fifteenth in line to the Scarlet Throne, and the Crown Prince’s wife is pregnant again, so it’s liable to be _sixteenth_ before too long, and-“

            Lobsang held up a hand to stop her, smiling least she take offense. “I know, Your Highness, and I’m not sure I understand, either. Like I said, _Avatar Talk_ is not the most pleasant form of communication to endure. That said…there was…well…I hesitate to say this, but…there was one more thing he said…”

            “Please, tell me, my lord…”

            “Well…I’m going to try to quote him…he said… _tell her, Lobsang, tell her that she has chosen right, just like she always does, and she most continue to follow her heart. Follow her heart, and when I fall, she cannot fail to find the path into the light.”_ Lobsang stopped, took up his pipe once more, and shrugged. “As I said, I’m not sure what meaning there is in it. Can you, Your Highness?”

            Katara did. She understood immediately. _I must follow my heart. When Avatars fall and empires crumble, the only way forward is to follow my heart._

And she would. After her honeymoon was over, two healers from the North would begin her instruction in combat healing. When war came, she would go with Zuko, and whatever family they had started would go with them. _Because that is what my heart says._

_My heart says always stand beside him, because he will always stand beside me._

_We will walk up that aisle in the Temple, and when we walk back down it, we will never leave each other’s side._

She took a last sip of her water, handed it to Lobsang. “I thank you, my lord, for your wise words, and please tell your Grandfather that I understand perfectly.”

            Lobsang laughed. “Well, I’m glad one of us does!”

            Katara smiled and bowed her head. “Indeed. Now, my lord, if you will excuse me,” she nodded at Yumiko-san, who immediately began to approach, the better to begin the laborious process of getting Katara back on her feet, “my Prince is waiting for me, and I’m afraid my heart can’t take being away from him much longer.”

            Lobsang rose and gave her a deep bow. “Of course, Your Highness. Please give His Highness my regards.”

            Katara smiled and, once Yumiko-san had her on her feet, she bowed.

            “I will, my lord. I will.”

-$-$-$-$-$-

            The wedding went off without a hitch. Ty Lee sobbed the whole way through, alongside the Princess Yue, Chief Hakoda, and His Majesty the Fire Lord, while the Lady Ursa and Kya managed to keep it together until the exchanging of rings and the kiss. The Prince Sokka had to run out to use the restroom a good dozen times, but he managed to be in the temple for all the important parts, which was what mattered. When the time came for the procession back down the aisle, Zuko’s fellow officers lined the path, making an archway of swords, and for each pair of swords, the newlyweds had to kiss to pass. When they got past the last pair, held by Toru and Toshiro, Toru let out a lot wolf-whistle while Toshiro smacked Katara on the rear with the flat of his _katana,_ completing an ancient tradition while reducing the temple to helpless laughter.

            Katara and Zuko remembered none of it, though. All they remembered, was looking into each other’s eyes, along with that one moment when Zuko almost forgot his lines, and that other moment when Katara would’ve passed out because she forgot to breathe, but fortunately the Princess Azula was there to whisper a soft – though rather profane – reminder.

            In a turn of events that surprised no one, the newly minted Princess Katara was pregnant within two months. The letter that informed Their Majesties of the happy news ( _since the Prince and Princess had, following their honeymoon, taken up residence in the married officers’ quarters at the Ninety-Fourth Regiment’s barracks)_ also included a private note from the Princess Katara to His Majesty the Fire Lord, thanking him for various pieces of advice that he had passed on to his nephew, though, naturally, that piece of family trivia never made it into any official histories.


	8. Candles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It ended up being an inauspicious moment for a birth, but Azula didn't really care; she had a niece, and she even got to pick the name.
> 
> As we round out Zutara Week 2016, it's time for one last warning: A bit of adult language ahead, and some adult themes, too, I guess? Who cares. Let's do this!

**Candles**

SATO ASAMI COULDN’T HELP BUT FEEL A LITTLE _LOST._ It wasn’t her first visit to the Palace; being friends with _Her Royal Highness the Princess Azula_ had its perks, after all. But never before had she been abroad in the Palace at such an hour. It was late autumn, winter was just around the corner, and dawn was still a good two hours away. In Asami’s mind, the Palace always hummed with activity, even at night. Instead, a strange hush hung in the air. When a servant did go by, they seemed to _creep,_ moving up and down the hall in their stockings, shoes dangling from their fingers, and only every third wall sconce had a candle burning in it, while the lanterns that dangled high up in various corners seemed to be burning at half strength.

            “Is it always this quiet at night?” Asami asked, couching her voice in a low whisper.

            “Not really, no,” Azula replied, though her tone was rather distant and distracted. Most of her attention was focused on the paper she had sent a servant to Asami’s house to ask Asami to bring direct to the Palace. “If you go to another part of the Palace,” Azula continued, turning the paper first one way, then the other, as she tried to get as much light from the candles as possible, “like, where the government offices are, over on the other side, it’s pretty much a circus round-the-clock.”

            “Well,” Asami said, looking around for somewhere to sit, without success, “what gives?”

            Azula tossed her head in the direction of a firmly closed door, from which came a sound of happy voices and the occasional squeal and giggle of a newborn baby. “My brand-new niece was just born a few hours ago; anyone who makes the slightest bit of noise will face Yumiko-san’s wrath.”

            “Yumiko-san?”

            Azula cracked the first smile Asami had seen since she had arrived in this quiet hallway to deliver her paper. “Katara’s lady’s maid, and even I hesitate to take her on. She was one step from chasing Uncle away with a broom not an hour ago.”

            Asami tried to picture _His Majesty the Fire Lord_ fleeing before a lady’s maid, and couldn’t quite make the image work. “That must’ve been…quite the sight.”

            Azula giggled. “It was; I’d pay good money to see it daily.” She opened the paper up in a rustle and snap, turning a page and folding the paper back to see a new section.

            “How did the birth go?” Asami asked, trying hard to not sound petulant. She had _desperately_ wanted to attend, _after all, Ty Lee got to come, and her father isn’t one of the richest men in the Fire Nation, her father just owns a circus,_ but the Princess Katara had strictly limited the number of people who were allowed to pace outside her door, and the price of crossing the new Princess was well known in Miyako.

            Azula shrugged, holding the paper in one hand as she dug her cigarette case from out of her cleavage and snapped it open. “Very smoothly, actually, which was nice, considering Katara was miserable for most of the pregnancy. Water broke yesterday morning, then six hours of smooth labor, and _bam,_ now I have a niece.” She stuck a cigarette in her mouth, stuffed the case back into her cleavage, lit the cigarette with a snap of her fingers. “Ty Lee passed out when we heard the baby start crying; I think she was more worked up than my brother.”

            Asami didn’t have any problems believing that. “I can imagine; is she okay?”

            “Yeah,” Azula said, taking a deep drag of her cigarette as she flipped the paper over, the better to read below the fold, “Mai took Ty back to her rooms.”

            Asami tried not to focus on the idea of _Mai’s rooms_ ; Mai was one of Asami’s friends, but it was hard, sometimes, to be reminded of how Asami was _Asami-san, granddaughter of a butcher,_ while Mai got to be _the Lady Mai, whose clan has had rooms at court for as long as there’s been a court to have rooms at._ “Mai carried Ty back to her rooms?”

            Azula scoffed. “ _Please._ Two of Mai’s servants carried Ty back to her rooms; Mai doesn’t love Ty _that_ much. And since you didn’t ask, _Asami,_ my sister-in-law is doing just fine, too. Those waterbending midwives are _fantastic_ ; if I ever have a kid, I’m going to ask for a few.”

            Asami shot her friend the Princess a glare. “Her Highness’s health was going to be my next question, I’ll have you know.”

            Azula giggled. “I know; I’m just needling you.”

            “Don’t you have enough on your plate, teasing your brother?”

            “ _Gods forbid._ As soon as I got to this very hallway, Yumiko-san came out and informed me, _in no uncertain terms,_ that Katara had specifically ordered me to be nice to everyone, and Mother gave me one of those _looks_ as she headed into the room, you know, the one even _I_ won’t mess with.”

            “That must’ve been a trial.”

            “ _Right?!_ It’s been murder, so, sorry, I’ve got, like, a day’s worth of messing with people to make up for.”

            Asami groaned. “ _Lucky me._ How’s Zuko taking everything?”

            “Pretty well, all things considered. He had a bit of a panic attack when Katara’s water broke, was white as a sheet for a bit, but once Kya decided to ignore Water Tribe tradition and let him in the room, he became pretty chill.”

            Once more, Asami didn’t have any problem believing what she was being told. She knew Zuko well enough to understand that he didn’t handle aimless waiting very well; once he was given something to do, he probably started to feel a lot better. “Good for him. So, what’s in the paper? Something big?”

            Azula frowned as she again opened the paper, turned it over, folded it, and started reading the other side, all while puffing on the cigarette as it dangled precariously from her lips. “You didn’t read it?”

            “I didn’t get the chance; the servant you sent was very clear on how I was to bring a paper to you _immediately_ upon it being brought to my house, and thanks for that, by the way.”

            “Thanks for what?” Azula asked, in a tone that all but screamed, _I really couldn’t care less, but you’re my friend and you did me a solid, so, you know, **fine.**_

            “Sending a pushy servant to hurry me along; my poor mother’s probably having a panic attack right now, since I don’t at _all_ look _Royal Palace Presentable._ ”

            “Trust me, tonight? No one’s going to care, especially not here. And it’s not like I ever really care, either.”

            “Well,” Asami said, looking for small miracles, “at least Mai’s not here to scoff at my hair.”

            “She only does that because she’s envious of your natural curls, you know.”

            “Seriously?”

            “You bet. Ever since my dope of a brother lucked into marrying Katara, Water Tribe curls have been all the rage, but Mai’s hair won’t hold curls no matter how long her maids work at it with irons.”

            “Huh…really?”

            “Really. Feel free to tell her I told you that.”

            “I won’t, because I have more tact than you. Now,” Asami said, reaching out to tap the paper, “ _spill._ I should be reading the damn thing right now, instead of standing here in the dark _watching_ you read it.”

            “What,” Azula drawled, one of her trademark _mischievous grins_ curling across her face, “don’t you feel honored to stand in the precise of _royalty_ as said royalty reads the newspaper you delivered?”

            Asami rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. “I’m not twelve anymore, Zula. It’s not our first year at the Royal Ladies’ Academy, I’m no longer star-struck to find myself standing in the presence of a Princess or three, and might I remind you that my father _owns_ the newspaper you’re holding, hence why you’re reading it an hour before the city reads it.”

            Azula let out a wistful sigh. “Oh, those were the days…you’d stare at Cousin Aiko and I as we chatted about the latest family gossip, Ty Lee would braid your hair in the lunch room, and you and Mai hated each other…” She sighed one more time, took a deep drag from her cigarette, and then the smiles and the sighs were gone. “How reliable is the information in this paper?”

            Asami did her best not to sound offended. “My father owns the paper, and my father also has offices in every major city in the world.” _Except for Ba Sing Se, but what can one do?_ “If it’s in that paper, it’s reliable.”

            Azula made a face. “I was afraid of that. The Avatar’s dead.”

            Asami wished she had been surprised. The Avatar, _gods rest his soul,_ had fallen into a coma a month before, and the world had been waiting for the final news ever since with a mixture of anticipation and dread. Asami nodded, clenching her right hand into a fist from which her thumb stuck out, a thumb she touched first to her forehead, then to her lips, and finally to her heart. “May Holy Mother Raava guide him to ever-lasting peace.”

            Azula freed a hand just long enough to perform the same gesture while muttering the ritual words. Normally, when someone died, the traditional words were, _may the gods guide them to their eternal reward,_ but, naturally, the fate of the soul of an Avatar was a slightly different business. “Do you have any idea when your father caught word?”

            Asami shook her head. “Sorry. When did the Avatar die?”

            “Two days ago, it seems. The Order of the White Lotus is already fanning out through the Water Tribes, trying to find the next one, though…”

            Asami couldn’t help but feel a prick of despair at the sudden shift in her friend’s tone. “Though…”

            Azula made a face and looked up at Asami through a cloud of smoke, the flickering of the dim, widely spaced candles making the Princess’s face look drawn and haggard. “It seems that the Committee of Public Safety in Ba Sing Se has forbidden the Order from entering the Foggy Swamp. Apparently, _the Avatar is a symbol of a corrupt and morally bankrupt order that must be cleansed from the face of the Earth, the better so that peace may finally reign from one corner of the planet to the other._ ” Azula scoffed and turned her attention back to the paper. “A rather long-winded way to say, _My name is Long Feng, prepare to bow down,_ if you ask me, but there it is.”

            Asami’s eyes began to burn, though why, she wasn’t sure. She was an only child, and none of her male cousins were currently in the military, _so why should I worry?_ But… _but…_ “So, it’ll be war, then?”

            Azula sighed. “I don’t see any way around it. Ten _yen_ says that word’s already reached the city that Earth Kingdom troops are massing against Goryeo and Omashu, which would explain why the other side of the Palace is overrun with half-dressed officers.” A pause, and then Azula closed the paper with a _snap_ and let it fall to the ground. “How do you feel about all of this?”

            Asami frowned as she turned away, the better to wipe at her eyes. “About what?”

            “You know, _revolution, overturning the established order,_ that stuff. It might turn out well for you.”

            Asami scoffed. “Maybe if your grandfather was still on the throne, or, gods forbid, your father-“

            “If my father was Fire Lord, I’d lead a revolution myself.”

            “I have no doubt…still…things aren’t perfect here, but His Majesty has…he’s fixed a lot of the problems, or, at least, started to fix them…” Asami took a deep breath, forced it down past the mysterious lump in her throat. “Besides, I’m a daughter of Fire; I feel duty-bound to oppose any revolution born of Ba Sing Se on general principle.”

            “Well,” Azula said with a sigh, dropping her cigarette into a convenient vase and extracting her cigarette case for a new one, “that makes _this_ princess feel better…”

            “I can imagine, though…” Asami gave herself a shake, pushed her thoughts aside. “Enough about _war_ and _dead Avatars;_ it’ll be all the city’s talking about in the morning. You _still_ haven’t told me what your new niece’s name is. Didn’t you get to pick the name for a girl?”

            Azula lit her cigarette with a flourish and struck a regal pose, making no attempt to conceal her pride. “You’re damn right I did.”

            There was a pause, and Asami had to try hard not to huff, _I’m trying to not think about bad things, let me focus on a beautiful Princess from the bottom of the world, a handsome Prince from the top of the hill, and how perfect they are for each other, and how kind of gross they act around each other._ “Well? Don’t hold out on me!”

            “Well…it took a while to pick a name, but I’m glad with what I came up with.”

            “…and…?”

            “Korra. That’s her name, my niece’s name, the name _I_ picked, thank you very much. Her name is _Korra,_ and maybe I’m just a silly, obscenely proud aunt, but I can’t help but feel that our newest Princess is going to change the world.”

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! You made it! Welcome to my Zutara Week stuff! If you're curious, you can find longer, more comprehensive notes attached to these stories over on FanFiction.net (look me up under kangaroo2010), along with me rambling on and being a dork. You should also feel free to ask me question in the comments below, or follow me over on Tumblr (look me up at kangaroo2010).
> 
> Also, I'm gonna be a dad in December. I just think everyone that I can possibly tell should know. :-D


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